
TOM. AND THE 


<E>Y OPIE READ 


A STIRRING TALE FOR BOYS FROM 
7 TO 60 AND ALL LOVERS OF THE 
EXCITING SCENES OF PIONEER LIFE 

Cliica6o LAIRD 6 LLL Publishers 



Class . JtZs 
Book 



Copyright N° 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 





































- 






































THE HANDSOME YOUNG WIDOW. 



TOM AND THE 

SQUATTER’S SON 

A Stirring Tale of Adventures 
in the Pioneer Days for 
Boys from 7 to 60 


OPIE BY READ 

Author of "The Son of the Swordmaker ,” 
‘ ‘A Kentucky Colonel, " " The Carpetbagger /' 
“A Tennessee Judge," The Jucklins" Etc. 


1/ ILLUSTRATED 



CHICAGO 


Laird & Lee, Publishers 


Codm ^ . 



Copyright, 1910 , 
by William H. Lee. 

All Rights Reserved. 
Copyright, 1902, Hunter Pub. Co. 



©Cl. A 2 5G 8 7 


7 


c/ 


W 


List of Illustrations 


PAGE 

A Young and Handsome Widow, .... Frontispiece 

“I reckon you better go whar folks is, an’ look fur 

suthin’ to do,” 61 

He sprang up, dusted himself, and shook hands with 

Tom,” 67 

The battle was a whirl of black and tan, gray and white, 77 

“Talkin’ to me?” inquired the tall, gaunt fellow, . 103 

“You have overestimated yourself, Major ; we don’t 

want you,” 109 

“Don’t take on so,” said Plum, putting his hand on 

Barton’s shoulder, 129 

In the town lived a Mrs. May hew, a widow, young 

and handsome, 139 

“The drop ’s yourn. We give in,” 167 

“He was my brother, Major . — you are Hackett,” . 187 

















































/ 













• » 


















TOM AND THE 
SQUATTER’S SON 

CHAPTER I 

Along a new-cut road in the forest of 
Oklahoma a young fellow briskly walked. 
The sun was low, its beams streaming 
through the underbrush, and from time to 
time he quickened his pace as if anxious to 
reach some sort of habitation before the fall 
of night. The country was wild, recently 
opened up to the settlement of the white 
man. In the heavy woods skirting the strips 
of prairie land the black bear still roamed 
about, keeping time to the tune of his own 
humorous mood, and among the pine cov- 
ered hills the newcomer in his log house 
with dirt floor, was still startled out of his 
midnight slumber by the scream of the 
panther. There were but few Indians re- 
maining in the territory. When Congress 
after many years of delay gave over Okla- 

5 


6 


Tom and the 


homa to the different races of the earth, the 
red man, dark and glum with the traditions 
of his race, grunted contemptuously, rolled 
up his blanket and turned away, to find a 
home where strange waters flowed. 

The sun was almost down when the youth 
came upon the cabin of that species of cit- 
izen known as a squatter, a man almost as 
roving as the Indian, a quaint character who 
never stopped to investigate the ownership 
of land, but who built his log hut and re- 
mained there until told to move on, or until 
neighbors began to appear, and then, com- 
plaining of being crowded, he would pick 
up his traps and move of his own accord. 
This habitation did not look older than a 
few days. New chips were scattered about 
it and the roof was not quite completed. 
Beside a stump lay a yellow dog, stretched 
out to catch the last rays of the sun. In front 
of the door stood a mule colt, nearly as 
woolly as a sheep. The youth “halloed” and 
instantly the tow head of a boy was thrust 
over the comb of the roof. From his post of 
observation he had been evidently watching 
the approach of the stranger. 

“Whut do you want?” the tow head in- 


Squatter s Son 7 

quired, showing an eye above the ridge of 
boards. 

“I want to see your father.” 

“How do you know I’ve got one?” 

“I don’t know that you have.” 

“Then how do you know you want to see 
him?” 

“It isn’t likely that you are living here 
alone.” 

“No. Thar’s the dog down thar and 
thar’s the colt.” 

“And I guess I can get as much inform- 
ation out of either one of them as I can draw 
out of you.” 

Hereupon the mule colt kicked up his 
heels and scampered off into the woods and 
the dog looked up with one eye and, again 
yielding to the soothing rays of the sun, 
dropped off to sleep. 

“Come down,” said the traveler, “I want 
to talk to you.” 

“Can’t you talk to me whar I am?” 

“Yes, but I can’t get anything out of you.” 

“Wall, I don’t reckon you could get any- 
thing out of me down thar.” 

“Come down and I’ll try.” 

“Can you rassle?” the tow head inquired, 


Tom and the 


showing his shoulders above the roof. “If 
you can and think you can fling me down, all 
right.” 

“If you want to wrestle I’ll try to accom- 
modate you,” the youth replied. 

“All right,” rejoined tow head, scram- 
bling along the roof. “I ain’t had no fun 
since I come here.” He dropped to the 
ground and the youth saw that he was tall 
and with evidences of wire strength and agil- 
ity. He appeared to be constructed entirely 
of bone. His yellowish hair looked like 
swamp grass scorched by the sun. He wore 
what is known as a hickory shirt and soiled 
flax trousers, held up by one “bed-tick” sus- 
pender. 

“So you want to wrestle with me?” 

“Yes, specially as I ain’t had no fun since 
pap come here.” 

“All right, come on.” 

The youth threw him, and the dog 
jumped up, with both eyes wide open. 

“I don’t believe it,” remarked tow head. 
“Nobody can throw me that easy. Give me 
another proof.” 

Again he was tumbled upon the ground. 
“That looks easy,” remarked tow head, 


Squatter s Son 


9 


“but some how I don’t believe it. Why, I 
have flung down all the young fellers in 
north Arkansas, and come mighty nigh 
breakin’ the neck of a feller that worked on 
a flat boat. You ain’t flung me yet. I have 
jest been a dreamin’. Come at me.” 

This time he arose with his mouth full of 
dirt. “Are you convinced now?” the youth 
inquired. 

“Dinged if I don’t believe I am. Whar 
are you from?” 

“From away off yonder,” answered the 
youth, waving his hand. 

“How did you learn all this?” 

“In a gymnasium.” 

“In a what? But don’t say it again. It 
sorter skeers a feller. But you are strong. 
And you are about the finest lookin’ chap I 
ever seed. But you are so good lookin’ I 
didn’t think you could rassle. What is it 
you want with pap?” 

“I wanted to know if he would let me stay 
all night.” 

“Why, you can stay till he comes and then 
if you can fling him down I reckon he’ll let 
you stay as long as you want to. Here he is 
now.” 


10 Tom and the 

A tall raw-boned man, not as old as he 
looked, came around the corner of the house. 
The dog ran to him with a caper of wel- 
come, and the mule colt, standing o ft in the 
woods, gave him a bray of recognition. 

“What’s yo’ name, young feller?” the 
squatter inquired. 

“Just plain Tom Smith.” 

“Plain enough. Whar you from?” 

“Indiana.” 

“Still plain enough. But they tell me 
they send out some right good men from 
thar. In fact I know they do. I met one 
not long ago that was powerful entertainin’. 
Fixed up a fight with him, and he knocked 
out this tooth right here, flattened my nose 
and took away my appetite for corn bread. 
Most amusin’ cuss I ever met. But what 
are you doin’ down here — lookin’ for a 
fight?” 

“No, I want to stay all night, and — ” 

“Come all the way down here jest to stay 
all night? Ain’t thar no places to stay whar 
you come from?” 

“Plenty of them. No. I didn’t come to 
fight, unless I have to. I am looking around 


Squatter s Son n 

and may settle somewhere in this part of the 
country.” 

“Want to stay all night. Have you at- 
tended to him, Fletch?” the squatter asked, 
speaking to his son. 

“Yep. Had a few falls.” 

“What did he do?” 

“Proved that he had a right to wait for 
you.” 

“That so? All right. Young feller, you 
may not understand our customs right well. 
We hold that a family’s got the right to 
make its own laws, so we have made ourn. 
It might seem funny to some folks, but nat- 
ural enough to us. You see we love fun 
better than anything in the world, but we 
don’t get none except when a stranger comes 
along. I’ve jest moved in here. Which way 
do you want to rassle?” 

“Makes no difference to me.” 

“Wall, you are an accommodatin’ chap. 
Jest come on an’ grab as grab can and I 
won’t hurt you any mo’ than I can naturally 
help.” 

There was a rush, a swirl of yellow in the 
air, and the squatter lay stretched out on the 
ground. He got up, dusted himself and 


12 


T om and the 


looked about surprised. “It seems that 
somethin’ has happened,” he said, “but it 
ain’t reasonable that a man should believe 
everythin’. Tell me that happenin’ once 
agi’n.” 

Again he was thrown upon the ground 
harder than before, and this time when he 
got up he turned to his son and said: 
“Fletch, go kill a couple of them young 
chickens and fry ’em for the stranger. Fetch 
out them biscuit and warm ’em up. Young 
feller, you can stay with me jest as long as 
you want to,” 


CHAPTER II 


In the night there came a heavy dash of 
rain, and half asleep, Tom lay upon his pal- 
let listening, dreamily, to the galloping of 
swift cavalry through the air and upon the 
roof; and when the forces of the night had 
all passed, with the occasional patter of a 
belated troop, he lay there musing upon his 
hosts, the squatter and his none less peculiar 
son. Of such people he had read, in books 
and sketches which seemed to be careless of 
the truth, but in their real existence he had 
never believed. To him they had been but 
the humorous fairies of a frolicsome mind. 
But now they lay, almost within arm’s reach 
of him, full of strange whims, hardly know- 
ing the value of money, ignorant of the 
world’s commerce and the ambitions for 
which men risk their lives. 

Among the meagre furnishings of this 
habitation there was not a scrap of printed 
paper. Always living beyond the refining 
touch of education, but learned in wood- 
craft and apt in the unconscious figures of 

13 


x 4 


Tom and the 


speech which seem to come up naturally out 
of the soil, they spent their lives, quaintly 
joking. But behind them there lives a vivid 
history; Watt Tylers who with sledge ham- 
mers resented the insults of heartless nobles ; 
Cromwells who cut off the heads of imperi- 
ous oppression and held high a hand that 
was red but free. And the youth thought of 
this as he lay there musing. He thought of 
the slave market that followed the western 
rebellion in England, when to follow Mon- 
mouth the people arrayed themselves against 
James, who were crushed, hanged, sold into 
slavery — who, some of them, bought by the 
ladies of the court, were sent to the Southern 
colonies in America. Some of the ancestors 
of this squatter doubtless stood looking into 
the merciless eye of Jeffreys, the most heart- 
less of all judges; some of them died in the 
hull of a disease-stricken ship. Thus he 
was musing when the squatter arose and 
stretched himself : 

“Wall, reckon we better git up and eat a 
bite.” 

“It isn’t daylight yet,” replied Tom. 

“That may be, but it’s time to git up. A 


Squatter s Son 15 

feller that lays in bed till the sun rises never 
will amount to nuthin’.” 

“Have you got anything very important to 
do to-day?” 

“Yes, got to get up and see the sun rise. 
Don’t want the sun to ketch you in bed, do 
you? It never would forgive you. One 
time thar come along a feller that was run- 
nin’ for governor of the state, and the sun 
riz one mornin’ and cotch him in bed, told 
the moon and stars on him and beat him five 
to one. Git up, Fletch, and go out and look 
at the mule colt.” 

Fletch was drowsy. He was a squatter, 
with all the traditions of his class, but more 
than all he was a boy. “What’s the use in 
lookin’ at him, pap? He’s thar all right.” 

“Wall, go out and let him know you know 
he’s thar. What, want to go to sleep ag’in? 
You’ll never be governor of no state.” 

The boy yawned. “Wall, you’ve been a 
gittin’ up this early all yo’ life an’ I ain’t 
seed you governor of no state.” 

“Hussle out, we ain’t got no time to talk 
politics. We’ll git a bite to eat, an’ then if 
you want to you may go to bed ag’in.” 

The clouds were gone and the sun was 


i6 


Tom and the 


ablaze when Tom told his friends good bye. 
They shook his hand affectionately, and 
when the boy had gone with him to the rise 
of the hill, he halted and said: 

“Wall, reckon I’ll go back here. Got to 
count the mule ag’in, you know. Pap has 
him counted about eight times a day. That’s 
about all I’ve got to do — git a bite to eat 
now and then and count the mule. Wish 
you’d steal him^ so I wouldn’t be kept so 
busy. Wait a minit. Whar are you goin’?” 

“You have heard of the little town known 
as Blue J ay, haven’t you ?” 

“Yes, feller come along yistidy an’ said he 
was from thar. He said thar was more than 
six stores in the place, but I didn’t believe 
him. I wonder if it’s true. One of these 
days I ’low to go over thar and see. Do you 
reckon you’ll be thar long?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Reckon a feller would git lost among all 
them stores? Wall, good bye, you may see 
me ag’in some time.” 

Along in the afternoon, when he had 
trudged many a tiresome mile, Tom came to 
a house which bore some of the features of 
modern civilization. Out in front a man 


Squatter s Son 


1 7 


was harnessing a horse to a buggy, and in the 
hope of being set forward on his journey by 
a more speedy way than walking, he halted 
and addressed the man, inquired as to the 
direction he intended to drive. 

“To Blue Jay,” he answered. 

“How far is it from here?” 

“About ten miles.” 

“Is any one going with you?” 

“Why all these questions? If you want to 
ride why don’t you say so? I am a doctor 
and a man of few words. I have come out 
from Blue Jay to see a man that was pretty 
badly crushed by a bear, and if I hadn’t got 
here in time he would have died. Whoa, 
here, come under while I buckle this strap. 
Don’t believe you ever belonged to a doctor 
before. I haven’t owned him very long. In 
fact I haven’t been here but a short time — 
came from Kansas where there are doctors a 
plenty, I tell you. Are you going to Blue 
Jay. If you are, why don’t you say so? My 
name is Dr. Plum. You haven’t told me 
your name.” 

“You haven’t given me a chance.” 

“Haven’t? I’ve given you all the chance 
there is. I am a man of few words — man of 


18 Tom and the 

action, I might say. Come, climb in if you 
are going with me.” 

They started off at a dash, and Dr. Plum 
took off his hat to catch upon his prema- 
turely bald head the rush of cool air. He 
wore a short-cropped reddish beard, with 
upper lip shaved, and the links to which his 
watch was attached were large enough for a 
dog chain; the checks on his clothes almost 
reminded one of the mosaics in the floor of 
an art institute; he wore boots made of alli- 
gator hide. 

“Come, sir, your name?” 

Tom told him. 

“But your business, sir. You’ve said 
nothing about that. Out in this country we 
want to know a man’s business. You ain’t a 
man yet, but the way boys shoot up these 
days you may be at any minute. I guess 
you’ve had your collar bone broken playing 
foot ball. Come, own up — don’t try to get 
out of it.” 

“I’ve had two of my ribs broken.” 

“So? Ah, hah. Where, let me see.” He 
began to grabble under Tom’s coat, and 
found the location of the ribs that once were 
broken. “So? They knit with first inten- 


Squatter’s Son 


19 


tion — a fair physician attended you. If it 
had been some exterior hurt I might tell 
from the scar as to the school of the doctor 
that did the work. But no matter. Why 
have you come out here? Don’t you know 
that when a young fellow comes out here 
alone we naturally suspect that he has done 
some deviltry and has had to run away from 
home? You didn’t know that? Well, you 
will learn a good lot about real life if you 
stay out here long. But you didn’t come 
riding a horse — that’s one evidence that you 
may be all right — evidence, you see, that you 
didn’t steal the horse. Laughing at me, eh? 
Well, I’ve known fellows to come here 
laughing and after a short time set up a 
laugh on the other side of the mouth. What 
can you do? Know anything about any sort 
of trade?” 

“I have never learned a trade. What’s the 
use of learning one when they are having so 
many strikes all over the country?” 

“Pretty good sense in that. Ever take a 
prize in your class at Sunday School?” 

“If you question me very closely you’ll 
find that there are a great many things T 
have neglected. I don’t lay claims to being 
good. All things considered I guess I’m 


20 


Tom and the 


about as natural a boy as you’ve struck for 
some time. I never robbed birds’ nests 
while other boys were studying; I never saw 
a boy drown because he went out in a boat 
on Sunday, but if you pin me down I’m 
afraid that once upon a time I tied a tin can 
to a dog’s tail.” 

“Well, well, you are a singular chap. 
Just an all round American boy, eh? And 
you are a fine looking duck, I can tell you 
that; and a man that has looked very close 
into that dark eye of yours wouldn’t care to 
tackle you. I’ve got a friend in Blue Jay 
that will take to you — Major Barton, fine 
fellow, smart as they make ’em; Yale man, 

I believe. Brought money out here and in- 
vested it in land around about the town and 
has done more for our place than all other 
agencies combined. Unfortunately he hasn’t - 
needed my medical services yet, but I may 
get at him after a while. What sort of bus- 
iness do you expect to engage in?” 

“I haven’t any idea; anything that comes 
up.” 

“Got any money?” 

“If I had I wouldn’t have walked.” 

“Logic, sir; logic. Old Whateley him- 
self might sometimes learn from a young- 


Squatter s Son 


21 


ster. But in coming out here you must have 
had some idea. Not looking for a lost 
father, I hope.” 

“No, my parents are not living.” 

“Good. I mean it’s good that you don’t 
have to look for them. Not on track of a 
stolen will, I suppose.” 

“There’s no will that has any bearing on 
me.” 

“Well, sir, I guess you are a natural boy, 
and I wish I had some sort of work to give 
you. But you ain’t likely to starve. Out in 
a new country they don’t let folks starve. To 
go home and sit down by a comfortable fire 
knowing that not far away are little children 
cold and hungry belongs to the civilization 
of old places. Out here we help one another 
and forgive short-comings — nearly every- 
thing but horse stealing, and my advice to 
you is — my only advice in fact, is that you’d 
better walk until you can buy a horse. Go- 
ing to a stable at night and taking one out 
may be easier, and a good deal quicker, but 
it is better to work for him. Of course if you 
can cheat a man out of one in a trade that’s 
all right; society is a good bit of a cheat it- 
self, you know. Well, from the top of that 
hill over yonder we can see our town.” 


CHAPTER III 


The Doctor continued to talk, asking 
questions or firing off his opinions of the 
world, and Tom was not slow to express 
himself, but as they neared the hill-top 
which was to give him the first view of the 
town, he fell into silence. And when they 
had reached the summit of the hill, when the 
tin-covered dome of the sourt house flashed 
its light into his eyes, the young fellow stood 
up and exclaimed: “So, that at last is the 
place.” 

“Sit down. There’s no mistake as to the 
name of the town — can’t say that I would 
have selected it, but it was named by a gang 
of adventurous fellows that had no ear for 
music. What do you mean by saying at last 
it is the place? Do you expect to meet any 
friends there?” 

“No, sir; I’m not acquainted with any one 
in the town.” 

“But your words carry a note of mystery. 
Being a short-spoken man I don’t like mys- 
tery. Tell me out and out why you are com- 
ing here?” 


22 


Squatter’s Son 


23 


“I have heard that it is the place for me — 
that I may do well there.” 

“All right, no mystery in that. I’ll help 
you all I can — will introduce you to Barton, 
but you musn’t beat about the bush. Speak 
out.” 

“I don’t think you’ll have any cause to 
complain, sir.” 

“That’s the way to talk. And, by the way, 
you might go into my office and study med- 
icine.” 

“Don’t think I should like that very well. 
Is there a newspaper in the town?” 

“Yes, sir, one of the very worst you ever 
saw, the Blue Jay Gazette.” 

“I used to send dispatches to the Chicago 
papers and I think I might do something in 
a printing office.” 

“You could w T rite up my cases, that’s a 
fact. The fellow that’s running the Gazette 
now doesn’t care anything at all about news 
— made only five inches of the fact that I 
was attending the bear-crushed patient and 
gave a foot and a half to a dog fight in a 
livery stable. He prints only once a week, 
but he doesn’t give enough news to last five 
minutes. I have sometimes wished he would 
steal a horse.” 


24 


Tom and the 


“Why?” 

“I want to get rid of him. I don’t think 
it would take much to buy him out. If we 
could scare him he might run away. I have 
heard that he committed forgery back where 
he came from, but out here they don’t under- 
stand forgery and it ain’t much of a crime — • 
some of them look on it as a sort of accom- 
plishment, like piano tuning or something 
of that sort. I’ll take you around and intro- 
duce you to him. You’ll like it out here. I 
reckon we’ve got the liveliest set of boys you 
ever saw. Up to all sorts of pranks — took a 
fellow out one night and hung him over on 
that knob, right yonder. He didn’t want to 
be hung — said he was busy — but the boys 
told him they would look after his affairs. 
He was a playful sort of a fellow — played 
with fire and tried to walk off with some 
goods while a store was burning. I’ll intro- 
duce you to them. From this hill we can see 
the town again.” 

“The place at last,” the young man mused. 

Blue jay was a small town, ragged in ap- 
pearance, with loose boards flapping when 
the wind was strong. It was constructed al- 
most wholly of wood, with here and there a 


Squatter’s Son 


25 


“commercial” palace of merchants more 
adventurous than their neighbors. There 
was no railway in the town, which was two 
miles from the river, a necessity brought 
about by the existence of low lands that 
were subject to overflow. Like all such 
towns faith in the future was the source of 
all its energy. Within a few moments any 
real estate dealer could explain why Blue 
Jay was to be one of the centers of com- 
merce and manufacture. 

The doctor drove to a drug store, and 
pointing to a window in the second story re- 
marked that it looked out of his place of 
business. He shouted to a negro boy who 
came forward to take care of the horse, and 
telling Tom to follow him, he entered the 
drug store. Behind the counter stood a 
young fellow who addressed the physician 
as “Doc .” 

“Anything going on, Charley?” 

“Nothing, Doc.” 

“Nobody needs me, I guess.” 

“Not that I have heard.” 

“How do these people expect me to live 
if they don’t send for me? Mr. Brown, this 
is young Smith; I found him out here al- 


26 


Tom and the 


most dead of swamp fever — had been given 
up by three doctors — but I attended him 
and you see what he now is.” 

The druggist reached forth his hand and 
Tom shook him, blushing to think that he 
was a testimonial, but as he was grateful for 
the “lift” which the doctor had given him 
over the dreary road he said nothing. 

“Of course you have come to live among 
us,” the druggist remarked, and Tom re- 
plied : “Yes, for a while at least.” 

“Oh, if you stay here a while you are 
bound to become a fixture. Look at me. I 
expected simply to pass through here, but 
I’ve been here a year and am one of the old- 
est inhabitants.” 

“He’ll be one of us all right,” said the 
doctor, and then speaking to Tom he con- 
tinued : “I guess you’d better go over to the 
hotel and get your supper and in the morn- 
ing if I’m not called away I’ll take you over 
and introduce you to the newspaper. Tell 
the hotel man that you are my friend and he 
won’t ask you to pay in advance. Haven’t 
got much baggage, have you? That bundle 
contain your all? Well, you ain’t a very 
promising guest, that’s a fact. But tell him 


Squatter’s Son 27 

you know me and he won’t charge you more 
than two prices.” 

The hotel was a small affair, built of un- 
planed pine boards, consisting of two rooms 
down stairs and a number of stalls above. 
In the office were several boys of about 
Tom’s age, ranging from seventeen to 
twenty, and when he entered they eyed 
him suspiciously. When he asked of the 
proprietor, a dried-up old fellow, if he 
could be accommodated with supper and a 
bed, a red-headed boy turned to his com- 
panions and remarked : “Bill, I don’t reckon 
he wants to buy any of your dad’s land.” 

“If I wanted to buy manners I wouldn’t 
stop to examine your stock,” Tom replied, 
and the boys laughed. “He got you that 
time, Abe,” one of them said, and Abe re- 
plied: “Yes, and I’ll get him the first thing 
he knows.” 

Arrangements were completed with the 
landlord and Tom was about to go into the 
dining room when Abe stepped up and said : 

“I want to see you a minute.” 

“All right, two minutes if you think it 
will take that long.” 

“If what will take that long?” 


28 


Tom and the 


“The business you want to transact with 
me,” 

“Yes, you bet your life I’ll transact busi- 
ness with you. What did you mean by say- 
ing that I hadn’t any manners? Don’t try to 
wriggle out of it. What did you mean?” 

Tom began to laugh. “I meant exactly 
what I said — that if I wanted manners I 
wouldn’t examine your stock. And I 
wouldn’t. You are at home ; I am a stranger. 
I came in here modestly and you began to 
make sport of me, and if you don’t like what 
I said you may help yourself to something 
that you may like better.” 

“Come, no rowin’ here,” said the land- 
lord. “Abe, that chap could lick you in a 
minute.” 

“Who, me?” Abe shouted, but there was 
a squeak in his voice. “Don’t you bet your 
money on it for you’d lose. If he wants any- 
thing out of me he can get it, I tell you that. 
I’m not goin’ to be run over by every feller 
that comes along.” 

“Fight fair,” cried one of the boys, evi- 
dently a leader. “Here, stand back, fellers 
and let them go at it right.” 

“Wait a minute,” said Tom. “I was the 


Squatter s Son 


29 


best boxer in my school and this chap’s no 
match for me. If there’s got to be a fight 
let it be somewhat equal. Select your best 
man and let him take this fellow’s place.” 

“You talk pretty big,” replied the leader. 
“And mebby you don’t know me. My name 
is Jim Turner.” 

“Well, what of that?” 

The boys looked at one another. Some of 
them shook their heads. Was it possible 
that there was to be a revolution in the affairs 
of boydom? 

“Don’t fight in here,” said the landlord,, 
showing by his manner that he was keen for 
the combat. 

“I’ll fight this chap anywhere,” Jim Tur- 
ner declared, pulling off his coat. Tom’s 
coat came off and the two lusty fellows stood 
facing each other. It was said afterward 
that Tom knocked him down with the first 
blow. Of course those among the boys who 
still had faith in their hero denied this, but 
not one among them went so far as not to 
acknowledge that the second blow brought 
him. When they had washed his face and 
given him his hat — when he had muttered 
about seeing him some other time, he passed 


30 


T om and the 


through the crowd that had gathered about 
the door and went away, with one or two 
boys following him, but they soon came back 
to peep in at Tom as he sat eating his supper. 
Abe came into the room and approaching 
the table took off his slouch hat and said: 

“It was all my fault. I ain’t no coward, 
you understand, and I would have fought 
you and been knocked silly, but I want to 
say I’m sorry for what I said. A feller don’t 
always know how soon he’s goin’ to be a fool. 
We ain’t a bad lot here, Jim and the rest of 
us, and we’ll do the right thing by you if 
you stay here, and I don’t think you can find 
a better place. Hope you won’t hold any- 
thing up against me.” 

“Not at all,” Tom replied. “You boys 
have just reminded me of home, that’s all.” 

“Where is he?” a voice called, and look- 
ing up Tom saw Dr. Plum coming toward 
him, “Ah, here you are.” He shook hands 
as if years had passed, inquired as to how 
Tom was getting along, presented the good 
wishes of Charley, the druggist, and then 
said: “Lively town here, my son. Glad 
they so soon extended to you the politeness 
of the season. Sometimes they are a little 


Squatter's Son 


3 1 


slow, being busy at something else, and I am 
pleased to know that you have made such an 
impression. By the way, shake hands with 
my Friend Wilson.” 

A tall, gaunt looking man came up and 
Tom shook hands with him. “Wilson,” said 
the Doctor, “is the editor of the Gazette and 
I reckon he wants to get at the facts of the 
row. Give them to him just as they took 
place for we’ll all enjoy reading about them. 
Be printed under the head of society items, 
you know.” 

“The affair is not worth writing,” Tom 
replied, closely searching the editor’s coun- 
tenance, striving to determine, no doubt, 
whether or not he would be a hard man to 
deal with. “It was all a prank.” 

“Pranks make a paper mighty interest- 
ing,” replied Wilson, taking out his pencil 
and note-book. “The folks here have to 
read so much about the booming of our town 
and the high-shouldered prospects of the 
community that when a prank comes along 
they gobble it up and smack their mouths. 
Whipped Jim, I hear.” 

“Well, you might call it a draw.” 

“A draw! Well, for the honor of our 


32 


Tom and the 


town I’ll do that. You see we are a proud 
set of people. What do you expect to en- 
gage in out here?” 

a I don’t know — most anything.” 

“Well, a feller that’s willing to do most 
anything oughtn’t to be out of work. I 
guess you heard so much about our place 
that you couldn’t hardly keep away. Come 
around to the Gazette office to-morrow and 
I’ll see what I can do for you.” 

“Thank you. I’ll do so.” 

The editor scribbled in his note book, shut 
it up with a vigoorus slap, to show the quick 
intensity of his publication, and hastily 
walked out. The doctor again shook hands 
with Tom and withdrew, but Abe continued 
to linger. “What are you going to do after 
you eat?” he inquired. 

“Go to bed. I’m tired.” 

“You don’t look like you could get tired.” 

“But I am. I have walked a long dis- 
tance within the past few days.” 

“I wanted to talk to you about a minute 
but I reckon in the mornin’ will do. I was 
goin’ to tell you somethin’ that may help you. 
The fellers here put up all sorts of jokes on 
a stranger. They call it the initiation, and 


Squatter s Son 


33 


some of the jokes ain’t right smooth. I’m a 
member of the tribe and ain’t allowed to tell 
what the jokes are — oughtn’t to have told 
this much. But I sorter felt that I was un- 
der some sort of obligation to you. Look out 
for ’em, Good night.” 

Tom lay up close to the roof, and in the 
night there came a rain, music to his dream- 
ing senses. He was young in years but the 
past seemed long to him, as his mind floated 
back, and he was impressed with the thought 
that ages ago he had listened to the patter of 
the rain, in some country far away, almost 
at the dawn of time, when great animals 
roamed the earth and when no stone re- 
corded the history of man. He aroused him- 
self to shake off this impression, and now 
wide awake, heard something sharper than 
the rain, a noise at the window, as if some 
one were trying to raise the sash. It was so 
dark that he could not see. But he could 
act, and gliding out of bed he felt his way to 
a corner of the room, nearest the window, 
and waited. He heard the sash go up — 
heard some one step into the room. Then 
there came a flash like lightning — a dark 
lantern — and he saw a man moving slowly 


34 


Tom and the 


toward the bed. Surely this could not be 
a joke of the boys. About the room the light 
was poured, like water from a sluice gate, 
and at one moment the bed looked like a 
patch of flame and then a tomb of darkness. 
Within Tom’s reach there was nothing to 
be employed as a weapon, except a frail 
barrel which he found with feeling about. 
It was empty, with but one head. He 
grasped it, and held it in front of him, know- 
ing that the light in its constant shifting 
would soon fall upon him. And it came 
full in his face, when he had lowered the 
barrel to look, and then there was complete 
darkness — the light was shut off. 

“What do you want? 4 ’ the young man 
asked. 

The floor creaked and there was no other 
sound. 

“What do you want here?” 

“If you move you are dead,” replied a 
deep voice. 

“As long as I can move I’m not dead, 
that’s sure.” 

“You have brought your jokes with you. 
But that’s not what I came after. I want 
your money.” 


Squatte/s Son 


35 


“Is that all? Do I owe you anything?” 

“You owe me all you’ve got. You go 
around buying land and I don’t own enough 
to bury me in.” 

“Buying land! I think you’ve got into 
the wrong room. But you needn’t worry 
about enough land to be buried in. The 
county will donate six feet for that purpose. 
Now if this is a joke it has gone far enough, 
and if it isn’t — ” 

“Do you reckon I’d risk my life to joke? 
Come, when I throw the light on you if your 
hands ain’t up, it will be all off with you.” 

Tom leaped to one side and the light shot 
past him, and he saw a gleam harder than 
light, of steel. He leaped forward, with 
his barrel held out in front of him, and he 
heard sounds and felt vibrations which con- 
vinced him that the robber was lashing the 
frail protection with a knife. The young 
man knew that the robber would not shoot 
except as a final resort, and he pressed for- 
ward, striving in the total darkness to find 
some sort of advantage. He thought of 
shouting an alarm, but the faces of the boys, 
grinning, guying, came up before him, and 
he waived that idea, striving to strike the 


36 


Tom and the 


robber with the barrel, to push him against 
the wall. Suddenly the barrel was struck 
by something heavy, and almost crumbled in 
his hands. The hoops fell to the floor, but 
seizing a stave he passed forward to the at- 
tack. There came a flash and a crash, the 
shot of a pistol, and the next moment he felt 
the splintering of the stave. With a desper- 
ate blow he had shattered it over the robber’s 
head, and then there came a jar and all was 
silent. Tom grabbed about, found the lan- 
tern, drew the slide and poured the light 
downward, and there upon the floor, bleed- 
ing and apparently dead, lay the body of a 
man. At this moment there came a tramp- 
ing on the stairs and the landlord with a light 
burst into the room. 

“Why, what—” 

“I guess he’s done for,” said Tom. 

“I hope so,” said the landlord, looking 
down at the man. “Why, it’s Lem Craig.” 

“A joker?” Tom inquired. 

“Joker? He’s just got back here from 
prison. He’s a bad citizen. Wait a minute, 
he’s cornin’ too all right. Why, when I went 
to bed he was drinkin’ in the bar room, and 
if he had been strictly sober he’d got you 


Squatters Son 


37 


shure. Come, get up here, now. Looks like 
you used a hand saw instead of a barrel stave. 
Here’s his pistol — see stuck on a half cock 
and wouldn’t shoot again. That was lucky 
for you. See if you can get up, brother 
Craig. It’s made your legs sorter limber. 
I’ll take his knife. Let’s see if we can ease 
him do\Vn stairs. Come on, brother.” 

Craig, still dazed and bleeding, was taken 
below, and the town marshal was summoned. 
“Good,” he said, as he came into the office. 
“He never ought to have been turned out of 
the pen. Don’t believe he can walk to the 
jail. Here, Bill,” he called to some one, 
“have a wagon brought here. Young feller,” 
he added, addressing Tom, “you’re all 
right.” 

“You bet he is,” exclaimed the editor, 
bustling into the room. “He’s furnished 
more news than all of you put together. Now 
tell me how it took place.” 

Tom told him and then remarked: “I 
shall not forget my engagement with you to- 
morrow, and now hoping that no more jokes 
are to be played on me, I’ll go up and try it 
again.” 


CHAPTER IV 


The town of Blue Jay was thrilled with 
Tom’s adventure, and the next morning he 
found himself a hero. The Doctor came 
early to the hotel and introduced Tom to 
a number of leading citizens, never failing 
to add, “an old friend of mine, you know.” 
Shortly after breakfast, and while the town 
was still busy with talking of the adventure, 
Tom called at the office of the Gazette. This 
great mouthpiece of a throbbing civilization 
was published once a week, except when the 
rise in the water courses prevented the ar- 
rival of the blank paper and then it came out 
as soon as possible, always with an editorial 
giving the cause of the delay and congratu- 
lating the people that such a calamity was 
not likely to occur again. The office was of 
one story constructed of plain boards, and 
the press was worked by hand. At the rear 
end of the long room sat Wilson, the editor, 
busily writing, particularly when he saw 
Tom enter. “Here’s copy!” he shouted to 
a boy ripping off a sheet of paper and clap- 
38 


Squatter’s Son 


39 


ping it down upon the table. “Ah, it is the 
hero. Well sir, I’m pleased to see you, but 
you’ll have to pardon me for a time. The 
life of a journalist is all rush, you know. 
Where’s that cob pipe. Ah, here it is.” He 
filled the pipe and striking a match on the 
sole of his boot, applied it and began to 
smoke. “I have looked forward to the time 
when I might retire from this ceaseless 
strife,” said he, sharpening his pencil, “but 
there is after all a fascination about it. A 
maker of history, however humble that his- 
tory may be, has a place in society. Now 
let me see. I must write an article on the 
necessity of good roads. Good roads,” he 
repeated, musing as if constructing the warp 
of his literary effort. “Good roads are the 
marks of advancing civilization. The roads 
of Rome were the best in the ancient day, 
and Rome ruled the world. Without roads 
Rome could have done nothing. And Blue 
Jay, as the prospective conqueror of all the 
trade of the adjacent territory, must have 
good roads.” His pipe went out. He re- 
lighted it and again bent himself to his work, 
muttering and scribbling. Some one came 
in and the editor cried out: “Ah, Major 


4 o 


Tom and the 


Barton, delighted to meet you. Major, this 
is the young man who nailed Craig.” 

Tom arose and shook hands with the 
Major, a thick-set man with a business air. 
His bluish eyes were almost colorless; his 
face was large, but his nose was thin and 
sharp pointed. Upon the whole he was 
rather repellant and it was not until he spoke 
that Tom felt inclined toward him. 

His voice was soft and musical, and his 
words well chosen. 

“You have done our town some service,” 
said the Major. “You come among us as a 
fearless youth, and that is the hope of our 
community. I have lived in many parts of 
the country, but nowhere do I find such at- 
tachments as here. Not physical influences, 
perhaps,” he added waving his hand. The 
editor winced and nodded. “Not physical, 
but spiritual influences. Of course society 
has not yet burst into full bloom, and perhaps 
that is one of the attractions, for when society 
has bloomed, it begins at once to decay.” 

“That is a fact,” spoke up the editor. “I 
will write an editorial on that subject.” 

“Here man is natural,” continued the 
Major, letting his hand drop upon Tom’s 


Squatter s Son 


41 


knee. “We do not deal in diplomacies but 
in square dealing. Of course the Craig af- 
fair is but an incident.” 

“Purely,” spoke up the editor, “purely. 
And I will write an editorial on that subject, 
too. You might say it is rather an unfre- 
quent incident. I have lived here a long 
time — five months at the inside, and my 
house hasn’t been robbed but once and then 
it was an accident.” 

“An accident?” Tom inquired. 

“Purely, sir. If the robber had known 
who lived there he wouldn’t have put him- 
self to the trouble.” 

“He was taking desperate and altogether 
useless chances in my case,” Tom replied. 
“I felt rather sorry for him.” 

“Good, good, sir,” exclaimed the editor, 
“worthy of a place in print, not as an edi- 
torial,” he added, glancing at the Major, 
“but as — well, as an ordinary, but example- 
teaching incident. Copy!” he shouted, and 
then leaning back, continued: “Now gen- 
tlemen, there having come a lull in my 
labors, I am at leisure for polite conversa- 
tion.” 

“Wilson,” said the Major, “I am negotia- 


42 


Tom and the 


ting for a tract of land in the Long Bow 
neighborhood, about fifty miles from here, 
and would like you to go over and look at it 
for me. And, by the way, I shall have a 
good deal of that sort of work from now on. 
Don’t you want to change your employ- 
ment?” 

“What! Do I wish permanently to sur- 
render the pen which is mightier than the 
sword? Major, your proposition is rather 
startling.” 

“I didn’t think it would startle you — espe- 
cially after I had talked to Dr. Plum this 
morning. He said he thought you needed 
out-door exercise, such as riding horse-back. 
I believe he really owns this paper.” 

“Ah,” cried the editor. “So the secret has 
seeped out. Yes, sir, he practically owns the 
Gazette, and if he thinks I need outside em- 
ployment, his words must be considered. 
What else did he say?” 

“Well, he remarked that this young man, 
having had much experience, could run the 
paper.” 

“All right,” said Wilson, getting up and 
bowing. “After all, land is the basis of 
wealth and all independence. I hope I do 


Squatter s Son 


43 


not detract from labor when I make this 
statement. Labor is noble and to it we owe 
agriculture, commerce and all the arts, but 
if it hadn’t been for the land, people could 
not have remained here to achieve all ♦LiS 
development. Am I logical?” 

“Wholly,” replied the Major. 

“I thank you. And now, recognizing that 
land is the basis of all things, and feeling 
somewhat tired of my editorial duties, I am 
willing to engage in land speculations. 
When do you wish me to set forth?” 

“At once. Plum will be over pretty soon 
to make arrangements with the young man.” 

“I am then at your immediate service.” 

The Major and Wilson withdrew, and 
Tom was sitting there looking over a news- 
paper when Dr. Plum came in. “Ah, my 
old friend, it was somewhat of a surprise for 
you, wasn’t it? Well, this life is full of sur- 
prises, most interesting when she springs her 
surprise at the right time and in the right 
way. Now, of course this paper is not mak- 
ing any money. It may be built up, how- 
ever, and it is not a good idea to throw away 
so bright a prospect. Will you take charge 
of the Gazette and run it for fifty dollars a 
month?” 


44 


Tom and the 


“I shall be delighted if you think you can 
afford to pay that much.” 

“Oh, it’s little enough when it comes to 
that. Go ahead and do the best you can. I’ve 
got to call on my bear patient and will see 
you again soon.” And at the door he halted 
and said: “Don’t forget that I am your old 
time friend.” 

“No, sir, I won’t. And I am trying now 
to express my thanks to you. I know how to 
recognize an injury, an insult, but when one 
has been so kind as you have, I am somewhat 
taken off my feet.” 

“Nonsense. Good day.” 

And so Tom sat down, the editor of the 
paper. He was world-wise enough to know 
that the responsibilities of this little office 
were not great, but his sense of obligation 
came down hard upon him and he mused 
over his coming duties, striving to form a 
policy that might make the paper popular. 
The first thing he did, after acquainting the 
one printer and the boy with the fact that he 
was now the conductor of the Blue Jay 
mouthpiece, was to kill the editorial matter 
recently written by Wilson and to substitute 
something simple and in good taste. He 


Squatter s Son 


45 


knew, however, that it would not do to wipe 
out all the extravagant colors, so he wrote a 
humorous sketch, a short character study and 
an extravagant puff of the town. He was 
almost in ignorance as to the details of get- 
ting out the paper, but shrewdly he kept the 
printer in the dark, telling him to go ahead, 
thereby scoring a point with harmless though 
necessary flattery. When he went to dinner 
the landlord, known throughout the neigh- 
borhood as old Giff, met him with as much 
graciousness as he could stew out of his rough 
character. The news of Tom’s accession to 
the tripod was in wide circulation, and old 
Giff found new cause for admiration, not 
because he had any particular respect for 
printer’s ink, but because in it there was a 
mystery. 

“I want you to understand,” he said to 
Tom, “that you own this house.” 

“I hope you don’t want me to be that 
poor,” Tom replied, and the old man’s sharp 
eyes twinkled. He possessed the backwoods- 
man’s first essential, the comprehension of 
anything meant for a joke. 

“I mean no harm,” he said, chuckling. “I 
simply want you to feel at home and when 


4 6 


Tom a?id the 


you can’t stand it any longer in the hotel why, 
I’ll let you sleep in the barn. The doctor 
will be here to eat dinner with you.” 

“I thought he went away out into the 
country to see the man that met the bear.” 

“Yes, he started out there, but decided to 
come back. He met a feller that told him 
he wasn’t needed particularly.” 

“Is the man getting better?” 

“Well, some folks might think so. He’s 
dead. Here comes Doc now.” 

The doctor came up, took off his buck- 
skin gloves, which he persisted in wearing 
even during the hottest of weather, and shook 
hands with Tom. 

“Our old friend who had the argument 
with the bear is gone,” said he, “and it is a 
pity, too, for three or four men around about 
the community wanted their wells cleaned 
out and he was good at that sort of work. 
But it couldn’t be helped. Science can’t al- 
ways defy death, you know. Come in, Tom, 
and we’ll eat.” 

And when they had sat down to the table, 
he continued : “I met the printer out yonder 
and he told me that you understood your 
business. I replied that all my old friends 


Squatter s Son 


47 


did that, and they do. Whenever a man be- 
comes my friend, he at once arises into some 
sort of proficiency. But my enemies!” He 
made a gesture of contempt. “Bob,” he 
added, turning to the negro waiter, “what 
have you for dinner?” 

“De same dat we had yistidy, sah.” 

“Well, what was that?” 

“Bout de same dat we has all de time — 
haug an’ hominy. Look yere, doctor, how 
dat bear man er gittin’ er laung.” 

“He’s dead.” 

“Look yere, you don’t tell me ! Now dat’s 
bad. He owed me fifty cents fur heppin’ 
him clean out er well. Who gwine pay me 
dat money?” 

- “I don’t know.” 

“Wall, I doan wanter lose it. Look yere, 
you’s de doctor an’ he died on yo’ hands so 
you ought ter pay it.” 

“Bring me some hog and hominy,” said 
the doctor. 

When the darkey had turned away and 
was slowly shuffling toward the shed which 
they called the kitchen, the doctor remarked : 

“If you were to take sick and I should at- 
tend you and you should die, that negro 


4 8 


Tom and the 


would say that you owed him. I have paid 
him about three dollars along those lines. 
How do you like Barton?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Don’t know? Haven’t you met him?” 

“Of course, but I haven’t made up my 
mind.” 

“Why, he owns more land than any man 
in the neighborhood.” 

“That may be, but I am not acquainted 
with him yet. His voice is musical.” 

“As a flute,” said the doctor. “But just 
between you and me there is something pecu- 
liar about him, some mystery that I don’t 
understand. But don’t say a word about it.” 

“No,” replied Tom, with an eagerness in 
his eye which the doctor did not observe. 
For a few moments neither spoke a word, and 
then the doctor remarked : “But you under- 
stand that there’s no harm in him. He is 
good hearted and generous. Not another 
word. Here comes the coon.” 

“Hate to lose dat money,” said the darkey, 
placing the dishes upon the table. “I’d like 
to go ober and work de press fur dis young 
man, but I’se er feerd he mout die an’ neber 
pay me fur it. Is yo’ health right good, 
sah?” 


Squatter s Son 


49 

“ Ithink you may put faith in me,” Tom 
answered. 

“Ain’t gwine out ter look fur no b’ar, is 
you?” 

“No, robbers are more to my taste.” 

“I blebe dat’s er fack. An’ the way you 
used dat white man up is scanlus. I went 
ober ter de jail dis mawnin’ an’ he didn’t hab 
no taste fur vidults.” 

The paper was to go to press that evening, 
to be ready for the day following, and the 
office of pressman was filled by the hotel 
negro. He talked constantly of the money 
owing to him, and when, along after mid- 
night, Tom paid him he said, “I wonder how 
yo’ ricollection is.” 

“Why so? You’ve got your money.” 

“Yas, sah, but ef yo’ recollection ain’t good 
you mout furgit de fack an’ I could git in 
agin.” 

“Don’t you worry about that. I never pay 
but once.” 

“Wall, some folks doan eben do dat. 
Wall, I must be gwine. An’ I hope no rob- 
ber won’t stop me ’tween yere an’ de hotel 
an’ hoi’ me up an’ take dis money ’way frum 


50 


Tom and the 


me. I doan like ter be robbed. It gits 
mighty tiresome. Good night.” 

When he was gone Tom took up his paper 
and for a time sat reading it, with a just feel- 
ing of pride that he was a factor in the prog- 
ress of the town. For a time he was to sleep 
in a little cubby hole at the rear of the office. 
When he went in with his spluttering oil 
lamp and looked at the bed, it appeared as 
if occupied by some one. He pulled at the 
covers and — there between the sheets lay a 
skeleton. “Rather a lean bed fellow,” he 
remarked, setting his lamp upon the table. 
“Old fellow I don’t know your name, and I 
guess you’ll have to come out.” 

He took up the skeleton and stood it in a 
corner, and then smiled as an idea struck 
him. Then, getting some printer’s ink and 
a stick he marked some letters upon the fore- 
head of the “former one,” took him out and 
with a string hung him in front of the ffice; 
and the next morning passers by read the 
words, written on the skull : “The only man 
in town who does not read the Gazette.” 


CHAPTER V 


As Tom was on his way to breakfast at the 
hotel, he met Abe, the boy who had warned 
him against the jokes of his companions. He 
humorously drew down one corner of his 
mouth, looked about to determine whether 
or not he was observed and finding that he 
was not, remarked: “It’s funny they put 
that thing in your bed when they know’d 
you wa’n’t afraid of a live man, but they did 
and I don’t want you to let on that I said any- 
thing to you about it. They haven’t got to 
the end of their rope yet, and if you don’t 
mind they’ll slip up on you.” 

“And suppose they don’t?” said Tom. 

“Wall,” replied Abe, lifting one foot 
slowly and rubbing his ankle, “they will put 
you down as about the sharpest feller that 
ever struck this part of the country. It’s all 
in fun, you know, and you musn’t get mad.” 

“Of course not. But can you give me an 
idea of the next prank they are likely to 
play?” 

“No, for you see I belong to the tribe and 
5i 


52 


Tom and the 


they would turn me out if they reckoned I’d 
told as much as I have.” 

At the breakfast table the doctor was wait- 
ing, and when Tom entered he bounced up 
and shook hands with him, “Good,” he ex- 
claimed. “Oh, you have shamed them all 
into reading the Gazette. I don’t see how 
they can possibly get away from it. The 
rascals stole that skeleton out of my office, 
but just let him hang there as a sign. You 
couldn’t get a better one. ‘Only man in town 
who doesn’t read the — ,’ ” he threw himself 
back with a laugh. 

“Haven’t you got any use for the skeleton 
over at your office?” Tom inquired. 

“None whatever. You see he was rather 
a reproach to me, having been a patient of 
mine and of course in debt to this nigger 
waiter.” 

“A patient of yours?” 

“Yes. In the flesh he was an Indian and 
was a patient of mine after he had been given 
up — by the law, you understand. He was 
hanged. Just let him stand there.” 

But when Tom returned to the office the 
skeleton was gone, having been doubtless 
carried away and hidden for the purpose of 


Squatter s Son 


53 


future jokes, and the editor did not investi- 
gate the theft, being rather glad that the 
grewsome thing was no longer a part of his 
establishment. During the day a number of 
men called to compliment the paper on its 
appearance and tone, and before night sev- 
eral subscriptions had been taken, a growth 
flattering to Tom and encouraging to the 
doctor. As the days passed the newcomer 
waited for the outcropping of another joke. 
He met the boys frequently, sat about with 
them at night telling stories and listening to 
their droll yarns, but received no inkling of 
what was to come. One night the party was 
assembled in the drug store, when Charley 
the druggist spoke up as if a sudden thought 
had occurred to him: “Say, fellows, it’s 
snipe time. An old man was in here to-day 
and he says that they are plentiful out on the 
island.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” replied Jim Tur- 
ner, “for there ain’t anything I like better 
than snipe. And I should think you’d like 
to have some instead of that hog and hominy 
over at the hotel,” he added, speaking to 
Tom. 

“I wouldn’t mind it. I used to go snipe 


54 


Tom and the 


hunting along the Wabash, and I generally 
brought in a good bag. I must get a gun 
and go after them.” 

“Gun,” Jim repeated. “Why, you don’t 
need a gun.” 

“How do you ge- t them?” 

“Why you are green. We go after ’em at 
night. Just take a candle and a sack, and put 
the candle down on the ground and hold the 
sack and drive ’em in. You can get a sack 
full in a few minutes.” 

“You don’t say so!” cried out a boy named 
George Frazier. “I’d like to see that thing 
done.” 

“We do it every season,” replied Charley 
the druggist, reaching back his reddish hair. 

“Suppose we go to-night,” said Jim Tur- 
ner. “Don’t you want to go Tom?” 

“Yes; how far is the island?” 

“Well, the river is about a mile and a half 
from here and the island is about three hun- 
dred yards out in the river. Come on fellers 
and lets go.” 

A party of five set forth, talking with en- 
thusiasm and provided with a gunny sack 
and a candle. “Nothing could be jollier 
than this,” said George Frazier as he walked 


Squatter s Son 55 

along beside Tom. “Say, fellows, oughtn’t 
we to have full moon?” 

“No, the darker the better,” Jim Turner 
replied. 

“I’ll bet we get a bag full in fifteen min- 
utes,” spoke up a lumbering chap named 
Buck Atcherson. “Say, Jim, recollect when 
we went over there on the island about this 
time last year?” 

“I guess I do,” Jim answered. “I sold my 
share of snipe to a dandy at the hotel for 
three dollars.” 

“That was a pretty fair profit,” said Tom. 

“Bet your life,” replied Jim. “Let’s turn 
down this way.” 

They turned upon a sandy road, new and 
not wholly cleared of stumps, and hastened 
onward, their enthusiasm heightening as 
they progressed. Clouds were gathering and 
it was with difficulty that they could keep in 
the pathway, but obstacles were met with 
merriment and passed with laughter. 

“If we cut across here I think we’ll find a 
boat,” said Jim. “Here, boys, this way.” 

They came to a river and there tied to a 
willow was the boat. It was just large 
enough to carry them comfortably. But the 


56 


Tom and the 


water was so swift that they were some time 
in reaching the island, a low, and sandy tract 
covered with a thick growth of cottonwood. 
Landing, they scrambled out, enjoined by 
Jim to make no noise, and whispering they 
crept toward the center of the island. Jim 
struck a match and lighted the candle. “Now, 
let me see,” he said, looking from one to an- 
other, ‘Til hold the sack and you fellows 
drive the birds.” 

“You held it the last time, let me have it,” 
Buck spoke up. 

“Wait a moment,” said someone else. 
“Tom is a stranger among us. We got this 
thing up for his benefit and why not let him 
hold the sack.” 

“I’m much obliged to you,” replied Tom. 
“I would like to hold it. I think it would be 
a capital experience.” 

Jim was inclined to be accommodating 
and consented. He stuck the candle in the 
sand and showed Tom the proper position, 
and when he had posed for the snipe, the 
other boys glided off into the darkness, one 
of them calling back, “Whistle ever now and 
then and they’ll come faster.” Tom whistled 
and the boys lay down and rolled with 


Squatter s Son 


57 

laughter. After a time they sneaked back to 
the river. 

“Why, where’s the boat?” said Jim. “I’m 
sure we tied it here.” 

“Must be a little further down,” suggested 
George Frazier. “Won’t that chap have a 
lonely night of it, whistling for snipe?” 

“Boys,” said Jim, as they came to another 
clump of bushes hanging over the water, 
“there’s no use talking, that boat’s gone.” 

“Are you sure you tied it fast?” Buck in- 
quired uneasily. 

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t take the 
chances of staying out here all night and 
maybe all day to-morrow. Lets walk further 
down,” and when they had nearly reached 
the end of the island he added: “Gone, as 
sure as you live. Well, let’s go back and 
keep the sucker company.” 

They saw the candle light gleaming and 
now, the spirit of fun having departed, went 
straightway to the snipe stand to explain the 
joke and to tell of the balk in the proceed- 
ings. But when they arrived at the place 
they looked at one another in amazement. 
The candle and the sack we.re there but Tom 
was gone. 


58 


Tom and the 


Charley was sitting in the drug store as 
Tom entered. The druggist began to roar. 
“What are you laughing about?” Tom inno- 
cently inquired. 

“Snipe hunter. Oh, they got you at last.” 

“Got me? I don’t quite understand. We 
had a first rate time.” 

“I guess so. They let you hold the bag.” 

“Yes, they were kind enough to do that.” 

“But why haven’t they come round here? 
Where are they?” 

“Oh, they are picking the snipe for the 
market. We have decided to ship them to 
Kansas City. They bring a good price there, 
I understand. Wish I had a few of them 
broiled right now. I tell you there’s nothing 
better than a broiled snipe — not those that 
have been shot, but caught in a gunny sack* 
There is something about a gunny sack that 
adds to the flavor of a snipe.” 

With his mouth half open Charley stood 
looking at him. “Say, tell me what’s up?” 
he said. 

“Why, what did you expect to be up? 
Didn’t you think we’d get snipe? Didn’t 
take more than ten minutes to fill the bag, but 
they were a little skittish at first, but when I 


Squatter’s Son 


59 


whistled softly they came running like chick- 
ens. Plump! Why, you ought to see them. 
But I haven’t time to tell you about them 
now. It’s past my bed time and I must get 
to work early in the morning.” 

“Wait a minute. It’s all right to guy a 
feller, but what have you done with the boys ? 
Where did you leave them?” 

“They left me. Good night.” 

As Tom drew near the office he heard 
some one walking up and down on the board 
sidewalk, and as he was unlocking the door, 
a voice called out: “Never did think you 
was cornin’ back no mo’. Been a santerin’ 
here hour after hour. Told you I might 
drap in on you sometime. Don’t you ricol- 
lect me?” and the voice came closer. 

“Why of course,” cried Tom, holding out 
his hand and feeling for his friend, Fletch, 
the son of the squatter. 


CHAPTER VI 


When in the little back room the lamp had 
been lighted, Tom looked at the squatter’s 
son, soiled with the stain of a trudge over a 
weary road, and said: “How did you hap- 
pen to come over here, Fletch?” 

“Wall, a feller came along with some 
papers and show’d dad that he didn’t have 
no right to live no whar, and dad lowed, 
‘wal, then, I’ll move on to no place,’ and he 
struck out. I went with him about ten miles 
to keep him comp’ny and then I says, ‘dad, I 
don’t reckon you kin keep up with what they 
calls the change in the times,’ and he lows, 
he does, mebby not.’ Then we walked on a 
mile or two and I says, ‘dad, I like you fust 
rate and all that, but this here thing of bein’ 
jolted out of one place as soon as you git 
thar don’t suit me.’ We went on about a 
mile furder and dad says: ‘I reckon you 
better go whar folks is and look fur suthin’ 
to do. I’m a wild steer and you ain’t nuthin’ 
but a calf.’ About a half mile from thar I 
says, I does, ‘I reckon that’s a fact. If you 
60 



“An* dad says: ‘I reckon you better go whar folks is and 
look fur suthin’ to do.’ M 










Squatter’s Son 


63 


ever think you need me, holler and I’ll come. 
Good by.’ And when we got to the rise of 
the next hill, about three quarters away, dad 
he says, ‘Good by.’ And then I turned round 
and walked putty peart. Up to this time I 
didn’t know whar I’d go, but I happened to 
think of you, an’ I come on over here and the 
man what keeps the place over thar whar 
folks eat told me you was here a doin’ of 
business, and I come and waited and here I 
am, ef you kin see me by that light, and — ” 

“What do you expect to do?” Tom broke 
in, striving in his mind to picture some post 
of duty suitable to the temperament and 
within the range of this peculiar character’s 
abilities. 

“Oh, anything. I kin throw a cow down 
and milk her while she’s kickin’, and I kin 
break a hoss till he looks foolish.” 

“But I have no work of that sort. This is 
a printing office — we publish a paper.” 

“You don’t tell me. Well, reckon we kin 
print up enough to last about six months and 
go off fishin’ some whar. I never printed 
none, you understand, but I kin l’arn. I 
l’arned to dance a jig that I’d never seen done 
but once.” 


64 


Tom and the 


“But you can’t read.” 

“Do I have to know how to read? Well, 
I’ll git at it early in the mornin’. Look here, 
you ain’t goin’ to turn me out?” 

Tom took him by the hand. “No, old fel- 
low, as long as this shelter is mine it shall be 
yours. There is something in you and I am 
going to bring it out. You can soon learn to 
work the press, and at the printer’s case it 
won’t take you long to learn to read and to 
set type. But let’s go to bed. You sleep here 
and I’ll lie over there in the corner.” 

“Not much. I’ll lay in the corner — I 
wouldn’t know how to sleep no whar else, 
and to-morrow I kin rig up some sort of a 
bed. Say, it was sorter hinted around that 
you was gone snipe huntin’ and them fellers 
was a gigglin’ a right sharp. You didn’t let 
’em put that old joke on you I hope.” 

Tom told him what had happened and he 
rolled in his corner and laughed, and long 
after the hour of midnight had passed, when 
the lonesome dog was howling away off, he 
broke out with a giggle. 

Early in the morning there came a violent 
knocking at the door, and when Fletch, who 
was first to get up, opened it a voice out in 


Squatter's Son 


65 


the darksome dawn demanded in the harsh 
notes of anger: “I want to know where my 
son is. Tell me this instant.” 

Fletch stepped back and Tom went to the 
door. “Who are you?” he inquired. 

“I’ll make you understand who I am. 
Where is my son?” 

“Well, until I know who you are I can’t 
tell who is your son or where he is.” 

“My name is Turner and my son is named 
James.” 

“Oh, won’t you come in, Mr. Turner.” 

“That is not answering my question. My 
son and several other boys went with you last 
night, and I understand that you are the only 
one who has returned.” 

“That may be true.” 

“May be true! It is true. What did you 
do with my son?” 

“Ask your son what he tried to do with 
me! He and the others took me out on a 
snipe hunt and he hasn’t come home yet — 
that is, from what you say I infer that he 
hasn’t. The fact is, they wanted to leave me 
on the island all night and I left them.” 

“You don’t mean to tell me that my boy 
has been all night out there in that miserable 
place.” 


66 


Tom and the 


“Yes, in that miserable place where he 
tried to leave me.” 

“But they were only joking with you.” 

“And I was only joking with them.” 

“Oh,” said Fletch, standing in the back- 
ground, “the shoe sorter makes a feller limp 
when you put it on tuther foot. It’s better 
for a lot of fellers to be thar together than 
one feller to be thar by hisse’f.” 

“I am not talking to you,” replied Mr. 
Turner, and then speaking to Tom he added : 
“You have taken a nice course to make 
friends in this town, and I am going to speak 
to Mr. Barton. I think your career here 
will be short.” 

“That may be, Mr. Turner, but as long as 
I stay here I’ll take care of myself the best 
I can. I don’t wish to be impertinent, but 
don’t you think you could look at this affair 
in a more liberal light? I simply caught 
those boys at their own game and I don’t see 
why there should be any hard feelings. 
There v/ouldn’t have been if it had turned 
out the other way. Practical joking at best 
is bad, and I think that a lesson against it is 
always valuable.” 

“Young man, I must admit that you have 



He sprang up, dusted himself, and shook hands with Tom 





Squatter s Son 69 

struck a note of common sense. How old 
are you and where are you from?” 

“You may put me down for eighteen and 
from Indiana.” 

“You seem to have had good training. I 
was angry at first, but I trust you will for- 
give me.” 

“When you put it that way, Mr. Turner, 
I must ask you to pardon me, and to show my 
sincerity, my friend here and I will go at 
once and bring them off the island.” 

“Young man, you are a gentleman, and I 
will say as much to Mr. Barton.” 

“Thank you, sir. Come on, Fletch.” 

They shook hands with Mr. Turner and 
at a brisk walk set out for the river, reaching 
it just as the sun was coming up. The boat 
was found where Tom had tied it, and they 
rowed against the swift current out to the 
island. At the place where the candle had 
burned down into the sand the boys were 
huddled asleep, with the snipe sack used as 
scant covering. Tom leaned over and 
touched Jim. He looked up, first with a 
sleepy frown and then with a smile. He 
sprang up, dusted himself and shook hands 
with Tom ; and then his loud laughter awoke 


70 


Tom and the 


the other boys. Fletch was introduced as a 
wild man, captured on the island, and he 
gave them a war dance and a whoop that 
echoed up and down the river. In merry 
mood they went to the boat, and then arose 
the question as to whether or not it were dan- 
gerous for all to attempt to go ashore at once. 
Tom offered to wait for the second trip and 
then arose an argument, each boy declaring 
his right to the sacrifice. But Fletch settled 
the matter by doffing his clothes, throwing 
them into the boat and plunging out into the 
stream. As they were hastening to town J im 
said to Tom : “You put it on us in fine shape, 
but we’ll get you yet.” 

“That may be, but what’s the object? 
What good will it do?” 

“It will let you know we are here,” spoke 
up George Frazier. 

“I know that already.” 

“ Y es, but we want you to know it stronger. 
You may have heard of the other jokes but 
we’ve got one that will fetch you.” 

“I wish you would give me some sort of 
idea of it.” 

“Never you mind, you’ll get the idea soon 
enough and then it will be too late.” 


Squatter's Son 


71 


“A thing that’s soon enough and yet too 
late is rather out of proportion,” said Tom. 
“To tell you the truth I don’t like practical 
joking. I don’t see any fun in it, I’d much 
rather go hunting or swimming — not snipe 
hunting, you understand.” 

“We won’t say anything about that,” re- 
marked Jim. “Guess I’ve got enough snipe 
to last me the rest of my life. I’m afraid the 
folks at home worried about me a good 
deal.” 

“Yes, and worry afterward is generally a 
consequence of the practical joke. But they 
aren’t worrying now. I saw your father this 
morning and everything is all right.” 

When Tom and Fletch were at the break- 
fast table old Giff, the landlord came along, 
with his mouth humorously drawn. “I have 
ordered you some eggs,” he said, “and that 
is about the most I could do for the governor 
of the state.” 


CHAPTER VII 


Fletch took an awkward position at the 
printer’s case, and with fumbling fingers felt 
about for the type. Once in a while an ex- 
pression of astonishment would escape him, 
finding some letter which he declared he had 
never heard of, but he looked up with vic- 
tory in his eyes and spoke with confidence 
in his voice when he announced that he had 
finally located the letter “a” and that it could 
not possibly get away from him. Tom com- 
plimented his perseverance, musing upon 
the wasted opportunities of the average boy. 
With what indifference the most of us have 
looked upon the golden privileges of learn- 
ing! But this poor fellow, struggling in the 
bonds of ignorance, stood doggedly at his 
humiliating task, as if by sheer force he 
would conquer the past and seize the rewards 
of the present. Once Tom saw him snatch 
a type and break it with his teeth. 

“What did you do then, Fletch?” 

“I bit this blamed slab-sided “1” in two. 
It keeps a dodgin’ me and I have fixed it. 

72 


Squatter’s Son 


73 


Now whar is that “b”? It was right here a 
minit ago. A feller wouldn’t think a piece 
of lead could hop around that-ter way.” 

“Keep at it, my boy, and everything will 
come all right.” 

“Oh, I’ll keep at it. I don’t know any- 
thing else but to keep at a thing. I was out 
in the woods one time and treed a ’coon. I 
didn’t have no axe an’ no gun, so I sets down 
under the tree and says to the ’coon: Well, 
if I go ’way, you’ll come down and cl’ar 
you’se’f; so I reckon I’ll stay.’ Wall, I sot 
thar all day and all night and along toward 
evenin’ of the next day the ’coon tried to 
make a sneak on me an’ I let him come, an’ 
jest sot thar a pretendin’ to be asleep. An’ 
about the time he was a makin’ off, I jumped 
up and killed him with a stick an’ I sold his 
skin fur a quarter, an’ bought me a straw hat 
an’ put off to church dressed up fitten to kill, 
I ’lowed; and about the time I got to meetin’ 
my hat blow’d off an’ a blamed calf over in 
a lot grabbed it up an’ had it about half et up 
befo’ I could choke it outen his mouth.” 

“You didn’t make much by getting the 
’coon,” said Tom, “but it taught you a lesson* 
— that after you have worked so hard for a 
thing, you ought to take good care of it.” 


74 


To m and the 


“Bet yo’ life. Look here, I’ve got a whole 
row of these things up on end all right. Oh, 
I’m a gittin’ thar; an’ the fust thing you 
know I’ll be able to spell, and then when 
Circuit Cou’t meets I’ll go right over an’ 
shake hands with the jedge an’ ax him about 
the weather out his way. Hold on, it’s all 
crumbled to pieces. How these things kin 
twist about so is a curis thing. Now I’ve got 
to fix ’em all over ag’in. But I kin stay here 
mighty nigh as long as they kin. Here’s one 
that don’t fit.” 

“It’s what they call a ‘wrong font,’ ” Tom 
replied, looking at his friend and smiling at 
the printer, an old-timer, who stood near. 
“That is the reason the line fell to pieces,” 
the editor added. 

“Sorter like a drunk feller at a dance,” 
remarked Fletch. “It sorter proves that in 
this here life we must all line up right or we 
don’t fit.” 

“You have found a good moral. Remem- 
ber it.” 

“Oh, I don’t furgit. Sometimes I have 
been afeered that putty nigh about all I could 
do was to ricolleck. But if thar’s l’arnin’ in 
these here boxes I’m goin’ to pick it out.” 


Squatter s Son 


75 


And thus it was day after day. Some- 
times the determined fellow would get up in 
the night, and by the light of candles resume 
his work at the case. His was more than a 
double fight, battling against ignorance and 
clumsiness, but after a while he began to 
learn easier, and once when a column of mat- 
ter he had set was put into the Gazette, he 
walked out alone to muse, as Dickens did on 
the dark night when he dropped his first 
piece of writing into the mail box. 

Within four weeks from, the time when 
Tom took charge of the paper the circula- 
tion had more than doubled, and this gave 
him such encouragement that he readily con- 
sented to the treat of a bear hunt. The day 
was set, the company gathered, the dogs 
“blown together” with the horn. In the 
party were Jim, Frasier and Ike, and with 
Fletch, of course, for from the moment the 
expedition was organized his .intelligence 
began to emphasize itself. No longer was 
he the awkward wooer of knowledge; he 
pushed to the front, as bold as a Frank. 

Down they went into the river bottoms 
where the trees were heavy and the cane al- 
most as rank as a Brazilian jungle. The 


76 


Tom and the 


weather was fine and spirits were high. The 
dogs frisked about, and one old-timer look- 
ing with contempt upon the younger breed, 
threw up his head and let forth a long and 
swelling howl that put them all to shame. 
How delightful it was the first night, sitting 
about the camp fire, surrounded by glisten- 
ing cane. With boyish pretense they in- 
vited little excitements, the cracking of a 
stick, the hoarse waving of the cane, the 
flutter of some night bird; and after an hour 
of dozing made sweet with half conscious- 
ness, they sprang up at daylight to cook 
breakfast and to be off after the big game. 
Hour after hour they fought their way 
through the tangle, sometimes halting in the 
few open places to rest and to wait for the 
dogs, and along toward noon the old veteran 
hound known as Long Head sounded the 
first notes of a trail. Then all was excite- 
ment. With a Winchester in his hand Tom 
battled with the cane, frequently hearing the 
shout of Fletch, far in advance of him. And 
now the whole pack of hounds broke forth 
in barbaric chant. 

‘‘This way — a path,” shouted Fletch to 
Tom. “Git down and run like a shote.” 



The battle was a whirl of black and tan, gray and white, 
















Squatter's Son 


79 


“I wonder how far we are from the bear?” 
Tom remarked, breaking loose from the 
stubborn spikes of a saw boar. 

“His tracks air hot enough to smoke,” 
Fletch replied. 

“I’d like to get a shot at him.” 

“All right, but you’ll have to be keerful — 
mout hit one of the dogs.” 

They came into an open space, and as the 
dogs were quieting down, having in the 
tangle evidently lost the hot stimulus of the 
trail, halted to breathe. Just then there 
came a frightening outcry, and hell-bent 
through the cane came Ike, yelling that the 
bear was after him. And something was 
after him, not a bear, but a ferocious wild 
hog. Ike bounded into the open space. The 
hog came on with bristles up and fierce tusks 
gleaming. 

“Give it to him,” Fletch accommodat- 
ingly and quietly remarked, and Tom fired. 
The hog leaped stiffly into the air, but came 
down running not toward Ike but directly 
at Tom. But another shot, almost fairly be- 
tween the eyes, ended the assault. 

“Worse than a bear,” said Fletch, walking 
up and touching the hog’s snout with his foot. 
“These here tushes cut like a knife.” 


8 o 


Tom and the 


“Why didn’t you turn round and shoot?” 
Tom inquired of Ike. “You’ve still got your 
gun — wearing it under your arm.” 

Ike looked at his gun and seemed sur- 
prised. “Blamed if I didn’t think I’d lost 
it,” said he. “Why didn’t I shoot? I didn’t 
have time. He jumped out at me and I 
didn’t think there ever was a gun in the 
world.” 

“There’s the dogs ag’in,” said Fletch. 
“Come on.” 

They had lost sight and hearing of J im and 
the others, but soon they were found up a 
tree. By this time the dogs were growling 
and snarling in a small open space. 

“What are you doing up there?” Tom 
asked, and Jim, as he began to swing himself 
down, made answer : “Had business up here, 
didn’t we fellers? That bear’s out there. 
The dogs are all around him.” 

And about this time the fight began, 
howling, snarling; and occasionally there 
came a sharp yep telling that a dog had made 
his last outcry. 

“Don’t shoot,” said Fletch, as they cau- 
tiously drew near. “We want to see the fun.” 


Squatter s Son 


“No fun for these poor fellows,” Tom re- 
plied as a lacerated dog ran past him. 

The battle was a whirl of black and tan, of 
gray and white. It was an entanglement of 
bear and dog, and the thicket rang with loud 
grunts and startling cries. The wise old 
hound was cautions, leaping about to nip the 
bear’s legs, but the younger ones, fuller of 
spirit and keen in the thrill of a first adven- 
ture, frequently exposed i emselves and paid 
the penalty. 

“This has gone far enough,” Tom de- 
clared, cocking his gun. 

“Wait a moment,” said Fletch. “Let’s 
count three and mind the dogs.” 

The guns barked, the bear fell, and upon 
him rushed the revengeful dogs. A fire was 
kindled, and that night the bear and the boys 
camped together. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Two days later Barton came into the office 
where the boys were at work. “You have 
not only proved yourself an editor but a bear 
hunter as well,” he remarked to Tom. “They 
say you boys killed half a dozen.” 

“We killed two,” Tom answered. 

“Well, even two make the biggest killing 
we’ve had in some time. Say,” he added, 
taking a chair and moving it close to the 
table where the editor was writing, “I want 
to know more of you.” 

“There isn’t anything in my life that 
would interest you,” Tom replied. “Tell me 
something about yourself.” 

“Oh, everything concerning me is an open 
book. I am simply a business man.” 

“You are surely a developer of new 
places.” 

“Thank you, young man. What part of 
Indiana are you from?” 

“I suppose you have heard of Brown 
county.” 

“So you are from old Brown, eh?” Major 
82 


Squatter s Son 


83 


Barton leaned back and meditated for a long 
time. “Were you ever in Kentucky?” he 
inquired. 

“Oh, yes, I have passed through that state 
a number of times.” 

The major arose and meditatively walked 
up and down the room, and Tom fell into 
musing, looking at him sometimes, as if striv- 
ing to settle a question in his mind. Suddenly 
there came an enthusiastic “How are you?” 
and in walked Wilson, the former editor. 
He seized Tom by the hand and vigorously 
wrung it, but with great dignity, almost 
mocking in its solemnity, he bowed to Major 
Barton. The major walked over and stood 
looking out the window at an ox team stalled 
in the street. And turning about, with his 
arm resting on the case, Fletch gazed at him. 
The ex-editor sat down in the chair vacated 
by the major, and with a smile said to Tom : 
“You are making this paper jump like a 
frog.” The major turned and glanced at 
him. Fletch resumed his work. 

“We are doing the best we can under the 
circumstances.” 

“Ah, and the best you can under the cir- 
cumstances is always a topnotcher,” said 


8 4 


Tom and the 


Wilson. “I was fond of die pen, sir, but I 
find that I am more adapted to real estate.” 

“Yes,” the major broke in, “and to-day I 
want you to go over to Slim Prairie and look 
at a piece of land.” 

“Yes, sir, I shall be pleased to examine it 
and give you my judgment, but as I have just 
come in from a long and tiresome ride, I 
should like to repose for a short, and I hope 
a refreshing season.” 

“I want you to go to-day.” 

Fletch turned again and looked at the 
major. “Land down thar ain’t in the habit 
of runnin’ off, is it?” 

“Come to think about it,” replied the ma- 
jor, “I don’t believe I am talkin’ to you.” 

“But I’m talkin’ to you. My daddy took 
up a piece of land way out yander, and some 
feller about yo’ size come along with a piece 
of paper that they had writ on in the cou’t 
house an’ made him move on off. Don’t 
ricollect me, do you?” 

“Oh, you are that squatter’s son. That’s 
all right, and still I don’t know that I had 
addressed any remark to you.” 

“No, but the time must come when you 
wish you had.” 


Squatter s Son 85 

“Look here, I don’t want any insolence 
from you.” 

Tom made a sign and Flech obediently 
resumed his work. 

“Going out to Slim Prairie to-day, Wil- 
son?” the major asked, and Wilson an- 
swered : 

“Well, I reckon I’ll have to, Major, beings 
that you request it. I am a most accommo- 
dating man, you know.” 

“All right, get off as soon after dinner as 
you can.” 

The major walked out, glancing back at 
Fletch as he neared the door, and Wilson sat 
there thinking. And when satisfied that his 
employer was no longer within hearing, he 
remarked: “Good deal of music in that 
man’s voice.” 

“What sort of a holt has he got on you?” 
Fletch inquired and Wilson started. 

“Hold on me? None at all, sir. But I 
am accommodating.” 

“So was my daddy when he moved off that 
place out yander. One of these days I mout 
git even with that feller.” 

“Revenge,” said Tom musingly, “is a hard 
tenant to put out when once it has occupied a 


86 


T om and the 


room in your mind. Don’t let it take pos- 
session of the entire house.” 

“My young friend,” remarked Wilson, 
arising and bowing to Tom, “there is noth- 
ing more beautiful than to see youth and wis- 
dom walking hand in hand.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Oh, not at all, I thank you. As man ad- 
vances in years he is too much inclined to 
think that wisdom belongs alone to the aged. 
But we more often find a foolish old man 
than a wise one.” 

“Yes,” said Fletch, “and if my daddy 
hadn’t been sorter foolish, he wouldn’ter let 
that feller drive him off. He wouldn’ter 
done it a few years ago. Well, thar’s a time 
a cornin’.” 

“For us all, let us hope,” replied Tom. 
“And I may say to you now, not to be re- 
peated, that everything with me at present is 
simply an incident, leading up to a time 
which I hope is not far off.” 

“Ah,” spoke up Wilson, “when you may 
go to congress, I suppose.” 

“No, not that. But I have dedicated my 
life to a certain purpose, and I believe that I 
am getting closer, but we won’t talk about 
it.” 


Squatter s Son 


87 

“Hello, here,” cried Jim Turner, bound- 
ing into the room. “Say, Tom, a party of 
us fellers got together this mornin’ and de- 
cided that we wouldn’t try any more jokes 
on you. We have elected you our captain.” 

“All right, but you must do away with that 
sort of joking altogether.” 

“We knew you’d say that and we agreed 
to it. But we’ve got to do something.” 

“Yes, and I’ll tell you what that some- 
thing is. I have authority to organize lodges 
of Coming Men of America. Every Ameri- 
can boy ought to belong to it; and I am go- 
ing to call a meeting to be held at the school 
house next Saturday night.” 

Jim studied for a moment and then said: 
“Sort of a secret thing, I reckon.” 

“Yes, it is an order not thrown open to the 
curiosity of the idle. Its teachings are en- 
nobling; it prepares a boy for the real battle 
of life, and stimulates him with courage and 
self reliance. It is spreading over all the 
country, and it will not be long before there 
are lodges in every community; and not only 
the present but the generations to come will 
feel the benefit of it.” 

Jim pondered for a time, walking up and 


Tom and the 


down the room, and then remarked: “I’m 
with you, but we may have trouble in gettin’ 
it started.” 

“Trouble? I don’t understand.” 

“Why, you know there’s a lot of fellers 
that live out here over the creek and they ob- 
ject to everything. A man came along here 
and started a night school for writin’, and 
these fellers made a raid on it one night and 
larruped the scholars and ducked the teacher 
where the water was over his head and he 
come mighty nigh drownin’.” 

“Wall,” drawled Fletch, “if thar’s goin’ 
to be trouble you may count me in from the 
fust. I ain’t had no trouble now for a good 
while, and I’m gittin’ sorter lonesome.” 

“Well, I am going to establish that lodge, 
trouble or no trouble.” Tom replied. “And 
as I don’t want to hurt anyone, I’d advise 
these fellows to keep away. I need you, 
Fletch.” 

“Got me, hain’tyou?” 

“Got me too,” said Jim. 

Wilson ‘ had been sitting twirling his 
thumbs. “I may not gather the import of 
your enterprise,” said he, speaking to Tom 
and winking at Jim, “but it’s also natural for 


Squatter s Son 


89 


me to have trouble. I ain’t a boy, but some- 
how I believe that I am one of the Coming 
Men of America. Will you take me in?” 

“You shall be one of us,” Tom answered. 
“We need your wisdom.” 

“Young fellow,” said Wilson, shaking* 
hands with Tom, “if nothing else did, that 
would prove to me that you are to be a great 
man. You have perception, sir, and that is 
what most men lack to a sad degree.” 

The tavern bell rang for dinner, and as the 
boys were going out, Wilson touched Tom 
on the arm and said: “I’d like to see you 
here a minute. Boys, Tom will be along 
after a while,” and then Fletch and Jim went 
out. Wilson walked up and down the room 
for a few moments and then said: “I don’t 
want you to say a word about it, and I can’t 
explain now — but don’t take Major Barton 
into your society.” 

Tom looked at him and for a time said 
nothing. He went to the window and looked 
out. “Hope I haven’t hurt your feelings,” 
said Wilson. 

“Oh, not at all. The fact is I had decided 
upon that myself. There’s something about 
him—” 


90 


Tom and the 


“Hush, not a word,” Wilson broke in, 
“He’s got ears like a gray hound. He hears 
things floating in the air that no one else can. 
But I won’t say anything more now and you 
mustn’t ask me for an explanation. There is 
a time coming, I hope.” 

“There is,” said Tom, “if he turns out to 
be — but I won’t say anything else, either. 
But Dr. Plum and the major seem to be good 
friends and the doctor is all right, I think.” 

“As good as they make them, my boy; but 
like a great many good men he can be taken 
in. But don’t say a word. In some things 
Plum is as shrewd as a fox, and then he falls 
down. It seems to me that he shuts his eyes 
at the wrong time. 

“But not a word. However, what was it 
you was going to say about Barton? Do you 
know anything about him?” 

“I ought not to have said what I did. 
Won’t you come to dinner with me?” 

“No, don’t believe I’m hungry enough to 
eat dinner at that hotel.” 

“It does require appetite, that’s a fact.” 

“Not a word,” Wilson again cautioned 
Tom as they went out ; and when on the side- 
walk he spoke up rather loudly: “Yes, I 


Squatter's Son 


91 


reckon Barton is about the best man we have 
in this community. And sense? Why, he 
can give pointers to them all. Well, I’m 
going out into the country for a little pleas- 
ure trip and will see you when I come back.” 

During all that afternoon Tom mused as 
if trying to solve some problem ; and at night 
when he went to bed, the pillow was hard. 


CHAPTER IX 


On the day following Major Barton was 
sitting in his real estate office when Tom en- 
tered. The great man frowned at first, but 
smoothing his countenance said in a soft 
voice: “Why, come right in. I was just 
thinking about you. Take that chair. Yes, 
I was thinking of the success you are mak- 
ing of the Gazette; but my young friend, 
there is one thing I must say to you. It is 
well enough to be pleasant and genial with 
every one, but we should choose our asso- 
ciates and especially should we wisely select 
our business co-workers.” 

“Well,” said Tom, sitting down and wait- 
ing for the major to proceed. 

“I have reference to that impudent fellow 
who works in the office — that old squatter’s 
son.” 

“He is a friend of mine,” Tom replied. 

“A friend of yours!” Upon the visitor the 
major turned a searching eye. In it there 
were no soft lights; it was like high polish 
on granite. “A friend of yours. Don’t you 
92 


Squatte/s Son 93 

think you could have made a better selec- 
tion?” 

“The best friends in this world are not se- 
lected, Major. They come by chance. Per- 
haps chance may not be the right word. But 
they come sometimes when we least expect 
them. I didn’t take to that boy because I 
needed a friend.” 

“Well, why then?” 

“Because he needed one.” 

“You’ll get out of that way of thinking be- 
fore you are as old as I am.” 

“But maybe not until I am as old as you 
are.” 

“Well, I want him discharged.” 

“ You want him discharged! Have you a 
right to make such a demand?” 

“Young man, the respect in which I am 
held, and the impudence with which he has 
treated me, entitle me to make the demand.” 

“Then you acknowledge that it is a de- 
mand.” 

“You have said so, sir.” 

“But I haven’t said that I’ll discharge 
him.” 

“Oh, you haven’t? Then perhaps the 
paper may have a new editor.” 


94 


T om and the 


“The plant, I understand, belongs to Dr. 
Plum.” 

“Ah, ha. And I have a mortgage on 
Plum. I could sell him out tomorrow. 
Along with your romantic attachments you 
might as well have some little judgment, you 
know.” 

For a time they sat in silence, and then the 
major searching Tom from head to foot in- 
quired : “May I ask the object of this early 
call?” 

“Oh, I just thought I’d drop in to see you. 
Inasmuch as the paper is gradually making 
land more valuable in this community I 
didn’t know but I might be welcome.” 

“Ah, pretty well up for a fellow of your 
age.” 

“Men develop earlier now, you know, 
than they did when you came on.” 

“In want of respect for elders — yes.” 

“In many instances that is true, Major. 
But I hope that I am not wanting in respect 
when respect is due.” 

“Not due then, in this instance, I suppose.” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“I am glad then, that you have second 
thoughts; and now let me inquire if you are 
going to discharge that lout?” 


Squatter s Son 


95 

“You mean Fletch? No, I’m not going to 
discharge him.” 

“Then Plum will tell you to get out of the 
office.” 

“He can’t very well. We -have gone into 
this thing by law; papers have been signed 
giving me absolute control for one year.” 

“But I tell you that I own Plum.” 

“You weren’t there to assert your owner- 
ship of him when the papers were signed.” 

“Ah, you have some idea of affairs. And 
if properly directed you may become a suc- 
cess.” 

“If success depends upon turning against 
my friends, I don’t want it.” 

“Good Sunday school talk, young fellow.” 

“No, it’s the brotherhood of man talk.” 
And after a pause he added : “Well, I’ll bid 
you good morning.” 

“Wait a moment. Don’t say anything to 
Plum about this conversation. Forget that 
it took place.” 

“If you don’t mention it, I won’t. But I 
want to tell you that when you attempt to 
force Fletch out of the office there’ll be 
trouble.” 

“No threats, sir.” 


96 


Tom and the 


“Not a threat — simply a determination. 
Good morning.” 

Tom went out pondering, turning some- 
thing over and over in his mind. “I don’t 
want to make a mistake,” he mused, “I want 
it to be an absolute cinch, but I believe he is 
the man.” 

On his way to the office he met Wilson. 
“My good young friend, how are you?” 

“All right. I have just had a talk with 
our friend, the Major.” 

“Have you?” Wilson asked, turning to 
walk with Tom. 

“Yes, quite an interesting talk.” 

“Did he say anything about me?” 

“Not a word. By the way, do you know 
exactly where he came from?” 

Glancing round Tom saw that Wilson was 
shaking his head. “No, I don’t. And not a 
word of this to any one, bu* I have caught 
him in a few discrepancies as to his former 
places of residence. Do you know what I 
had to do yesterday? I had to force a man 
off a place that he had cleared up. The 
major had found a slight flaw in the title and 
put the law on him. It hurt me.” 

“Why did you do it?” 


Squatter s Son 


97 


“Family, my boy — bread and butter. But 
one of these days I’ll be — . Not a word. 
Good morning Mr. Clendenning, beautiful 
day/’ They had met a prominent citizen. 
“Saw you and your family at church the 
other night — your daughter is the most beau- 
tiful girl in town, sir.” And passing on, 
Wilson continued: “The major’s silent 
partner, and you must be careful what you 
say before him. I tell you, sir, this life is a 
tangled up affair. So you say the major 
didn’t say anything about me.” 

“He didn’t mention your name.” 

“He didn’t? Then I am not of sufficient 
importance to be mentioned. All right. But 
one of these days he will mention my name, 
and it won’t be to tell me to go out into the 
country to order some poor wretch off the 
land he has cleared. Say, you were speaking 
of organizing that lodge of Coming Men of 
America. Have you thought any more 
about it?” 

“I am going to write something about it 
today — call a meeting to meet next Saturday 
night.” 

“All right; but don’t forget the boys from 
Slim Prairie. They’ll be on hand and we’ll 
have trouble with them.” 


9 8 


Tom and the 


“I hope not.” 

“Hope’s a good thing,” said Wilson, “but 
in this instance I don’t believe it will serve.” 
And again he spoke up in a loud voice: 
“Yes, sir, Major Barton is not only one of the 
finest business men in this section of the 
country, but his generosity is like a thaw in 
the spring. I admit that I am figurative, but 
it is with the use of figures of speech that we 
get at the subtle truths of this life. Good 
morning, Mr. St. Clair. I can see by your 
countenance that you read the Gazette, espe- 
cially since our young friend here began to 
edit it.” And passing on, he added: “A 
wolf if there ever was one, but not a word.” 

“This town seems to consist largely of 
secrets,” said Tom. 

“True, sir; true. Whenever five men come 
together there are secrets. But don’t tell any- 
body that I said so.” 

At the office door Wilson shook hands with 
Tom, wishing him a happy new year though 
the season was summer; and walked away 
with his head bowed, whistling his medita- 
tion. 

Fletch was at his “case,” slowly but surely 
picking up type. “Oh, I’m learnin’ their 


Squatter 7 s Son 


99 


tricks,” he said as Tom came in. “And I’m 
gettin’ so I can read right peart — strike a 
snag every now and then, you know, but I 
don’t hang up as long as I did. This here 
place is better than a school, ain’t it?” 

“In some respects, yes.” 

“A feller come along jest now,” said 
Fietch, “and said he seed you in Barton’s of- 
fice a talkin’ to him right out from the 
shoulder.” 

“Yes, we had rather a lively conversation,” 
Tom replied, seating himself at the table to 
begin work. 

“Reckon he said somethin’ about me. But 
you needn’t tell me what it was — I don’t 
care. I’m not a feller to give much advice; 
I most always think he knows what’s best for 
him, but if I was a givin’ out that artickle 
I’d tell that biowhard not to fool with me too 
much. Say, two or three of the boys come 
around to tell you they wanted to join the 
lodge. I told ’em to go out and cut some 
right good hickory sticks — that we mout 
need sich things befo’ we got through. But 
don’t pay no ’tention to me — you’re busy.” 


CHAPTER X 


A call was printed in the Gazette, the 
night came, a number of persons assembled 
and Tom arose to address the meeting. 
Briefly he outlined the policy of the order 
and was rounding a patriotic period when 
there came a loud groan from the rear end 
of the room. He halted for a few moments 
and then proceeded. There came a cat call 
and then a howl in imitation of a wolf. 
“Gentlemen/’ said the speaker, “we have not 
come here to organize a menagerie, and as 
animals have not been invited, I request 
them to retire.” He waited. There was no 
movement and no sound. In front sat Fletch 
and a number of the boys, gripping their 
hickory sticks. In the rear was a tough look- 
ing gang. Over by a window stood Wilson. 

“Well, animals,” said Tom, “if you have 
decided to remain, you must behave your- 
selves.” He waited, and there came not a 
sound, but the moment he took up his appeal 
to patriotism there came from the rear an 
imitation of a cat fight. The people began 


I GO 


Squatte/s Son 


IOI 


to laugh and Tom good humoredly re- 
marked: “If there’s an officer in the house 
I wish he’d put those cats out. They might 
scratch some one.” 

No one arose to assert the authority of the 
law and Tom waited until the cat fight had 
subsided. Then he resumed his address, 
when in the rear end of the house a dog fight 
began. 

“It seems that we have quite an assortment 
of cats and dogs,” said the speaker. “I will 
wait until the new war is over.” The dogs 
ceased to fight, Tom began again, and then 
pigs began to squeal. “Let’s git at ’em,” said 
Fletch. We’ve stood about as much as we 
ought to.” 

“Wait,” Tom replied. 

“And now,” the speaker continued, “hav- 
ing given the cats, dogs and hogs a chance, 
we reserve the right to attend to our own 
affairs.” 

Up arose a tall, gaunt fellow and 
whooped like an Indian. 

“Ah,” said Tom, “I see that we have sav- 
ages along with the animals. But our for- 
bearance has reached the limit, and I call 


102 


Tom and the 


upon that aboriginee to take his cats, dogs 
and hogs out of here.” 

“Talkin’ to me?” inquired the tall, gaunt 
fellow. 

“Yes, talking to you.” 

“Wall, talk ag’in.” 

This raised a laugh. Tom waited and 
then said : “I’ll talk again, and I won’t stop 
at that. It’s about time now to act. I see 
that there are about a dozen of you scoun- 
drels — ” 

“Boys!” shouted the leader, “he calls us 
scoundrels.” 

“Yes,” said Tom, “for as I haven’t been 
introduced to you I must take up the most 
natural name.” 

From the rear of the house there was a 
rush toward the front, and up arose Fletch 
and his band. Tom jumped down among 
his friends. Wilson came forward from the 
window. The tall fellow did not halt. He 
was as resolute as if he had been at the head 
of a better cause. “You call me a dog?” he 
roared, rushing at Tom. 

And then followed an example of modern 
athletics over brute force. With the ease of 
a graceful gesture Tom knocked him down. 



‘‘Talkin' to me? 


inquired the tall, gaunt fellow. 



Squatter’s Son 


105 


He scrambled to his feet and again was 
sprawled out upon the floor. By this time 
Fletch and his men were in among the in- 
vaders. Wilson was seen to grab a short 
chap and throw him through a window. A 
panic arose. “They are going to shoot!” 
some one shouted, and a harmless shot was 
fired and the next instant a pistol was struck 
from a marauder’s hand and an arm hung 
limp, broken. A lamp was smashed and the 
house caught fire. Then there was a wild 
and uproarious rush for the door. But the 
fighting continued. Five of the Slim Prairie 
boys were on the floor. “They will burn 
up !” some one cried. But Tom and Wilson 
subdued the fire. Then they returned to the 
fight. One fellow, short, broad, a gorilla in 
form and expression, whipped out his knife 
and made a lunge at Tom. Fletch struck 
him with his stick, but it bounced off his 
head as if it had come in contact with a 
stone. But Tom caught him under the chin 
and laid him out. By this time the house 
was cleared. The invaders terribly beaten, 
ran for their horses, those who could run, the 
others begged for mercy. Finally all was 
quiet and the lodge was organized. 


io6 Tom and the 

The next morning Tom met Barton. “I 
have been thinking about that fellow 
Fletch,” said the major, “and I guess you’d 
better keep him.” 


CHAPTER XI 


Six months passed, and the lodge, estab- 
lished by determination, flourished from the 
first. Men, seeing that it was an American 
order, having for its object the moral and 
mental development of youth, encouraged 
their sons to join it. 

One day while Tom was busy with going 
to press with his paper, Major Barton came 
in. “Don’t let me interrupt you,” he said in 
his soft and persuasive voice. He sat down, 
watched Tom for a time, and as Fletch and 
the printer were going out to dinner, the 
major remarked to Tom: “I’d like to see 
you for a moment, alone.” Tom waited, and 
when alone with the major, said: “Weil, 
they have gone. What can I do for you?” 

“I have been thinking that your coming 
here was rather a good thing for the com- 
munity. You have taught the Slim Prairie 
boys a lesson, and not since then have they 
gone on the war path.” Tom stood waiting, 
knowing that something of more import was 
to follow. 

107 


io8 


To m and the 


“I thank you for your good opinion. But 
isn’t there something else you wished to 
say?” 

“Well, yes. It has occurred to me that it 
would be a good idea to join your institu- 
tion. It might help me.” 

“It is not organized to help people that 
way — in business. We don’t turn it to com- 
mercial account.” 

“Oh, not primarily, of course. Still, I be- 
lieve I’ll join.” 

“Major, I don’t want to appear imperti- 
nent, but has any one intimated that you 
would be acceptable?” 

“Why, what do you mean? Acceptable! 
Why, of course I am.” 

“You have over estimated yourself. 
Major. We don’t want you.” 

“Young man, don’t joke with me.” 

“It’s no joke unless you intend to make it 
such. I will oppose your joining.” 

“Why, this is outrageous. And if you are 
in earnest I’ll make you regret it.” 

“All right; but by this time you ought to 
know that threats don’t go with me. And as 
you have made a few, I’ll make one. If you 
attempt to join and are rejected, which will 



THE, Cii 

or* 


“You have overestimated yourself, Major; we don’t want you.” 



Squatter s Son in 

surely follow, I will publish the fact in the 
Gazette.” 

“You will, ha? Then open war is be- 
tween us.” 

“Just as you please.” 

“No, let it go — amounts to nothing. I am 
still your friend.” 

“Then I beg your pardon for what I’ve 
said.” 

“Not at all, young fellow. We’ll bury the 
hatchet. Be open and above board with me 
and I’ll be the same with you. Good day.” 

That afternoon Dr. Plum called on Tom, 
took him into a dark corner of the back room 
and said: “My son, you know I’ll do any- 
thing I can for you. Don’t you?” 

“Yes, Doctor. But what’s up?” 

“Don’t stir up Barton too much. Pie’s a 
bad enemy.” 

“Is he an enemy of yours, Doctor?” 

“I think not, or at least he has no cause to 
be. Not long ago — telling you confiden- 
tially, you understand — I advanced him a 
sum of money.” 

“You did? Why, I thought he had a 
mortgage on — ” and then remembering that 
he had given his word to Barton to say 


I 12 


T om and the 


nothing of the import of a conversation rel- 
ative to the Doctor, he added: “Mortgage 
on nearly everything in town.” 

“He makes a pretty fair show, but he has 
no mortgage on me, I’m glad to say. It 
would be about like him to threaten you with 
expulsion from this panting office — to carry 
a point. But if he does, laugh at him. I could 
come nearer turning him into the street than 
he could putting you out of here. But every- 
thing considered he’s not bad. There’s a 
good deal of bluster about him, but I have 
reason to know that in business he’s honest. 
I haven’t told you the main object of my 
visit. I have been crediting you with every- 
thing in excess of interest on the purchase 
money of this office, and now I wish to say 
that you own a third interest paid up. Wait 
a moment. And now, if you want to buy the 
other two-thirds you may pay me whenever 
you get ready. Wait a minute. As you 
know, the sketches in your sheet are attract- 
ing attention away from home; the great 
dailies are reproducing them; notice is 
thereby directed to us; we grow in import- 
ance and population, and our road to state- 
hood is made shorter and more certain. I 


Squatter’s Son 


”3 


don’t want you to thank me. This is busi- 
ness. Wait a minute. We are organizing 
the First National Bank of Blue Jay, with 
Major Barton as president. The article 
which you wrote on the necessity of railway 
communication is resulting in good — a com- 
pany is being organized. Within a few 
years we may take off the buckskins of terri- 
tory and put on the robes of state. Hope I 
am not too figurative for you.” 

“No; go ahead.” 

“Robes of state; and then, my young 
friend, you may see your way cleared for 
Congress. But don’t antagonize Barton. 
It’s true he is crotchety at times, but in busi- 
ness his head is as level as a floor. And if he 
wants to join your society let him in.” 

“Doctor, he may be all you paint him; he 
may be one of the best business men in the 
country, but he can’t open our door.” 

“Very well ; let it drop. You are now the 
owner of this paper — one of us, with your 
interests interwoven with ours. And your 
friend Fletclvis getting to be a great news 
gatherer. Well, I’m off. Good day.” 

Fletch had learned so rapidly; with so 
firm and determined a grasp had he seized 


Tom and the 


U 4 

the duties of his new life that he had been 
promoted to the position of reporter. His 
grammar was not strictly in line and his 
writing was pot-hooky and enormous, but he 
had what is termed a nose for news and 
could track a matter of interest as a hound 
follows the trail of a fox. He always stood 
near as Tom corrected his matter, and never 
forgot an important point. His spare time 
was devoted largely to reading — not the 
frivolous stuff that spurts from the press, but 
editorials written by thinkers, and stories 
with meat in them. He soon came to pick 
out graces of expression, and a well turned 
sentence or a bit of philosophy was a delight 
to him. For days he went about laughing 
over Falstaff. One would have thought that 
the greatest of all humorous creations had 
just been discovered. 

“Don’t let your reading kill your individ- 
uality,” Tom one night remarked to him. 
“Don’t permit yourself to be led away from 
naturalness.” 

“Well,” said Fletch, “you are hittin’ at 
me, but I don’t know where you want to hit 
me. But I reckon I know what you mean. 
I am goin’ to be the master of such things,” 
he added, putting his hand on a book. 


Squatter’s Son 


”5 

“You are all right, Fletch. And in your 
studies you have one great advantage — you 
take that which you believe will be the most 
useful to you. In after years you’ll have 
nothing to unlearn. The self educated man, 
while about him there may always remain 
something unfinished, is strong because he 
has had to fight; he depends upon himself. 
Self reliance is the most powerful weapon 
ever given to man. And without it, a boy 
may have the highest education and yet 
stand helpless in the fight or be run over by 
the strong. Take Lincoln for your model. 
Your opportunities have been poor, but now 
they are rich compared with his.” 

“He had to split rails, didn’t he?” 

“Yes; and at night he studied by a brush- 
wood fire.” 

“Well, I can beat that. I’ve got a coal oil 
lamp. Did I tell you I’d hearn — heard from 
my dad?” 

“No, have you?” 

“Yes, he’s gone into perlite society.” 

“You don’t tell me?” 

“I’m the one that is tellin’ you. He went 
over in the Indian territory and got hold of 
a ferry boat and is runnin’ it — gathers in as 
much as fifty cents some days.” 


ii6 


Tom and the 


\ 


“But you spoke of his being in society. Is 
is ferryman a social leader out in that part 
of the country?” 

“Of course; for without him the folks 
couldn’t git across the river. But I reckon 
when Barton hears that dad’s got a boat he’ll 
send over there and try to take it away from 
him. And he’s got it in for you and me and 
we’ll have to watch him. I hear a lot of 
folks sayin’ he’s a good man, with his soft 
talk and all that; but I’ll bet you he’s a 
wearin’ of a sheep’s skin.” 

Tom walked over to the window and as 
he came slowly back to his table, he said, as 
if thinking aloud : “If he should turn out to 
be the man I want.” 

“What did you say?” 

“Oh, nothing — just musing.” 

“Well, when a feller’s a musin’ and ain’t 
musin’ about nothin’ he’s a musin’ hard, I tell 
you. But you don’t have to tell me a word 
more than you think you ought to.” 

“No, not until I am sure that it is right, 
Fletch.” He walked over and put his hand 
on Fletch’s shoulder. “I had a brother two 
years older than myself, as fine a fellow as 
you ever saw. I loved him — he was my de- 


Squatter's Son 117 

light. But not a word of this to any one. I 
have already said too much.” 

“All right — you ain’t talkin’ down a rain 
barrel for your words to come a rumblin’ 
out again.” 

“You’ll know all about it in time.” 

“All right, and when you need me, all 
you’ve got to do is to wink and I’ll be there. 
What’s this?” Tom handed him something. 
“Five dollars! You’ve already paid me for 
this week.” 

“Yes, but this is a bonus. Buy some 
books.” 

“No; reckon I’ve got more than I can 
read up for awhile. If it’s jest the same to 
you I’ll send it to dad and with it he can step 
a little higher up in society. He can buy 
himself a pair of gum boots and that will fix 
him. You don’t care, do you?” 

“Of course not. Send it to him.” 

Fletch stood with the bank note spread 
out on his case. “Blamed if it ain’t almost as 
big as a hoss blanket,” he said. 

“It may in its time have served as even a 
thicker covering — may have kept some one 
from freezing to death.” 

“That's so. I reckon money is a pretty 


ii8 


T om and the 


good thing atter all. Befo’ I met you I had 
nibbled at a nickel now and then, but you 
are the fust feller that ever let me take a big 
bite.” Slowly he began to fold the note. 
“Ain’t nobody that you want whipped, is 
there?” 

“No; if I did I’d do the work.” 

“Yes, but didn’t know but you might feel 
too busy. Say, this mornin’ when I went 
out, it seemed that the sun was brighter than 
ever befo’.” 

“It was knowledge coming up over the 
hilltop of your mind, my boy.” 

“You can talk mo’ like a preacher than 
any feller I ever seen. And you’ve got Jim 
Turner and Ike and the rest of ’em to think- 
in’ about somethin’ else besides jokin’.” 

Barton halted in front of the door and 
looked in. But he did not enter — he passed 
on, and Tom fell into musing, walking up 
and down the room. And that night, when 
a dog on a distant hill was barking in the 
noon-tide of darkness, Fletch awoke and 
found his friend sitting at a table, dim in the 
misty lamp light, deeply musing. He had 
not even attempted to read, for near him 
there was no book or paper; he sat staring at 


Squatter s Son 


1 19 

the floor, with his arm over the back of the 
chair. Long had he sat there. From the 
board sidewalks all footsteps had died away, 
and nowhere else was there a light, save in 
Charley’s drugs store, the green eye of night 
in the lonesome dark. 

“What’s up?” Fletch asked, and Tom 
good naturedly answered: “I am.” 
“Anything wrong?” 

“I’m thinking, that’s all. Go to sleep.” 


CHAPTER XII 


A brass band played in front of a small 
brick building. A crowd was gathered 
about, and in the street were ox teams, their 
drivers gazing, thrilled with the scream of 
the high horn and entranced with the grunt 
of the bass. On the building, white letters 
on white canvas, set forth this announce- 
ment : “These brick are home made and the 
men who planned and put up this magnifi- 
cent institution are all of this town.” It was 
the First National Bank of Blue Jay. The 
crowd called loudly for Major Barton, pres- 
ident. He came out upon the steps and made 
a speech. He congratulated the people of 
his town. “The headlight of civilization is 
now turned upon you, fellow citizens,” said 
he. “This home of capital marks the epoch 
when you emerge from the back woods into 
commercial power; and my word for it, 
within five years we will represent a city of 
many thousand inhabitants.” 

At the outer edge of the crowd stood Tom, 
leaning against a tree. 

120 


Squatter’s Son 


121 


“You have done your share in bringing 
this about,” a neighbor said to him. 

“I don’t think so. A fellow that has no 
money can’t do much toward making a nest 
for capital.” 

“Well, but your paper has had great in- 
fluence. Didn’t you suggest Barton for 
president?” 

“No.” Tom looked at the man and the 
man looked at him. 

“But you don’t believe they could have 
found a better man, do you?” 

“I don’t believe they could have found a 
more willing man.” 

“Well,” replied the man with a truth that 
caused Tom to look into his eyes, “the most 
willing man is often the best.” 

“You are right, sir. Ah, I see Wilson up 
to speak.” 

Wilson delivered a highly-colored and ful- 
some address and when he concluded and 
came strolling slowly over to where Tom 
stood, he plucked the young editor by the 
sleeve, drew him off to one side and in a low 
tone remarked: “I hope that the Lord will 
forgive me for the lies I have told this day. 
See the people crowding up to put in their 


122 


Tom and the 


money. After all, man has a great deal of 
confidence in man. But don’t even hint that 
I said so.” 

“Why, is it a crime here to hold an opin- 
ion?” 

“I’m not saying anything,” Wilson an- 
swered with a wink. “But one of these days 
the people of this town will see something 
that wasn’t planted and watered by a fairy 
queen. Going back to the office?” 

“Yes. I must write something about this 
financial farce.” 

“Call it that and I’ll give you my hat,” 
said Wilson as he walked along with Tom. 

Shortly after they reached the office, Bar- 
ton, covered with the glory of the day, came 
into the room. “Ah,” said he to the editor, 
“I didn’t see you deposit any money with 
us.” 

“I reckon he’s able to find use for all he’s 
got,” Fletch drawled, looking up from his 
work. 

“Young fellow,” Wilson spoke up, “that’s 
no way to talk to a banker.” 

“Well, you see I ain’t uster talkin’ to ’em 
and don’t know exactly how to go about it. 


Squatter’s Son 


123 

Bank! Ain’t that the place where they lend 
money?” 

“Yes,” Tom answered, slily winking at 
Wilson. “That’s what banks are for.” 

“That so,” said Fletch, and then speak- 
ing to Barton he added: “When you go 
back I wish you’d count me out about a 
hundred.” 

“I wouldn’t count you out a cent,” Major 
Barton replied. 

“No? Reckon you’d count me out of all 
I had.” 

“Sir,” said Barton, turning to Tom, “how 
much longer are you going to permit that — 
that thing to insult me?” 

“Be more careful, Fletch,” Tom cautioned 
and the squatter’s son humorously drew 
down the corners of his mouth. “All right. 
Don’t know of a feller that is mo’ willin’ to 
be careful than I am. But you’ll sorter have 
to bear with me, Mr. Banker. I was raised 
out where things was sorter loose j’inted.” 

“I don’t care where you were raised,” 
replied the major. 

“Reckon not,” Fletch grotesquely 
mouthed. “And you didn’t care how short 
a time I lived there after I was raised.” 


124 


Tom and the 


“I bid you good-day,” said the major, 
speaking to Wilson and Tom. 

“Don’t be snatched on my account,” said 
Fletch as the major went out. 

“You’d better watch your corners or he’ll 
mix with you,” remarked Wilson. 

Fletch grinned and replied: “Well, when 
we do I reckon some of the color will be 
red.” 

That evening after supper Tom was 
walking alone out along a path skirting a 
piece of timber near town when he heard 
some one walking rapidly behind him. He 
halted, faced about and in the fading light 
recognized the man who had spoken to him 
at the edge of the crowd in front of the bank. 

“Hope I don’t intrude,” remarked the, 
man. 

“Not at all.” 

“Thank you. My name is Collier. I 
know who you are, so we are acquainted. 
I’m a stranger here, and I understand that 
you haven’t been here very long, so neither 
one of us has to enter into explanation. I al- 
ways like it better when I don’t have to ex- 
plain,” he added as they walked along to- 
gether. “If all the time that has been given 


Squatter’s Son 


125 


to unnecessary explanation had been prop- 
erly applied and the proceeds rightly in- 
vested, there would not now be a pauper on 
the face of the earth.” 

“That’s the second emphasized truth 
you’ve told me today,” said Tom. 

“Thank you. And truth is not wasted 
upon the young. If we must lie let us lie to 
the aged for the old man is not so much de- 
ceived by falsehood.” 

“But when we feel that it is necessary to 
lie wouldn’t it be better to keep silent?” 

“In theory, perhaps; but in its own de- 
fense virtue may employ an untruth.” 

“I’m afraid you are getting a little too 
deep for me,” said Tom, looking round at 
his companion, now shadowy in the deepen- 
ing dusk. “May I inquire as to what busi- 
ness you follow?” 

“Well, you may term me a reformed rake. 
With an inherited fortune I blunted my en- 
ergies, weakened my constitution and have 
come out here to regret the past.” 

“Wouldn’t it be better to shape the 
future?” 

“Yes, but without cloth we can’t fashion 
a garment. The future is not within my 
grasp.” 


126 


Tom and the 


“But it is to come and the past is forever 
gone.” 

“Young fellow, you are a sort of a 
prodigy. You make me think. Let us sit 
down here on this log.” 

Long they sat there talking. The moon 
came up, dew sparkled on the stubbed grass, 
and when they arose to go, their hands were 
clasped. And for a long time during the 
walk back to town, they were silent, but just 
before they parted Collier said : “It is of no 
use to tell you to be discreet.” 

“No. I realize that a single word might 
spoil it all.” 

“And do as I tell you — cultivate him.” 

“I will. Everything must be complete be- 
fore we act.” 

“Yes, and when it is, we will act swiftly. 
Tomorrow I will deposit three hundred dol- 
lars.” 

“And we must not appear together very 
often. Suspicion has a thousand eyes, you 
know. Good night.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


At midnight, two weeks later, the town 
was startled by a terrific explosion. Into 
the streets the people poured. The night was 
dark and a heavy rain was falling. No one 
knew which way to turn. Finally arose the 
cry that the bank had been blown up. Then 
there was a rush to the scene of disaster. The 
report was true. 

The brick house was demolished. The 
people stood about as if nervously waiting 
for another shock. A buggy was furiously 
driven out to the house of President Barton, 
but he was not at home. The driver came 
back with the information that together with 
Dr. Plum and Mr. Wilson, the major had 
gone to inspect a proposed investment in a 
little town about twenty miles away. It was 
noon of the next day before the party re- 
turned. 

"Don’t take on so," said Plum, putting his 
hand on Barton’s shoulder as together they 
stood viewing the ruins. At a respectful 
distance stood a group of men. They entered 
1 27 


128 


Tom and the 


deeply into sympathy with the major. A’ 
touch of financial bereavement makes the 
whole community kin. “Don’t take on so,” 
the doctor repeated. 

“Plum, we are ruined.” 

“Oh, it’s bad but not that bad. We’ll build 
again. How much is the loss, all told?” 

“Twenty thousand, at least.” 

“Well, it’s no use to grieve. Now let’s see 
if we can catch the robbers.” 

The town marshal came forward with a 
clew. And as if the explosion had taken 
place at different times, in sections, he de- 
clared that he was first to hear it. He was 
awake at the time, eating a bit of wild turkey 
that had been sent to him by one of his many 
admirers. Suddenly a bone which he was 
about to raise to his mouth fell from his 
hand, a decided proof that something had 
happened. The house shook and this con- 
firmed his suspicion. Then came the noise 
and there could be no further doubt. He 
ran out into the street and sniffed the smoke 
of gun powder. His first thought was of the 
bank. To the average town marshal the 
bank is the holy of holies, and this marshal 
reached the spot before the bricks were done 
falling. 







Squatter s Son 


131 

“ But did you see anyone?” the doctor in- 
quired. 

The marshall put his finger to his nose. 
“I have my suspicions, sir,” he said. 

“But did you see anyone?” 

“I thought I saw three men in the dark.” 

“Ah, dressed in black I suppose,” re- 
marked Wilson. 

The marshal, keenly alive to the financial 
depression of Mr. Wilson, looked at him 
with contempt. “Of course. Everything 
was black.” 

“Did the three men introduce them- 
selves?” asked the doctor. 

“Please don’t confuse him,” Barton sadly 
spoke up, wiping his red eyes. 

“Of course,” replied the marshal. “They 
introduced themselves and asked how the 
graveyard was getting along since so many 
doctors had come into the neighborhood.” 

The doctor raised his cane but Barton 
caught his arm. “Let us have no trouble, 
Doctor. If you saw the men, Marshal, why 
didn’t you shoot at them?” 

“I didn’t have my pistol.” 

“So much turkey grease on his fingers that 
the pistol slipped out of his hand, I guess,” 
said the doctor. 


i3 2 


Tom and the 


“Please, don’t confuse him,” insisted the 
major. “Why didn’t you follow them when 
they ran away?” 

“They scattered and I didn’t know which 
one to follow and by the time I decided they 
were all gone. But I’ll get ’em yet, see if I 
don’t.” 

“Yes, we’ll see that you don’t,” said the 
doctor. 

“Well, don’t be so sure about that,” the 
marshal replied, slowly shaking his head. 
“I know my business, I’ll inform you. No 
robber ever got away from me yet.” 

“Never had one, did you?” 

“Doc, now what you want to come talkin’ 
that way for? I never done you no harm.” 

“Oh, I hope you will catch them.” 

A posse was organized and the robber 
hunt was begun. Men on horses galloped 
over the surrounding hills, and men on foot 
peeped about in the forest. But the days 
passed and still no trail was struck. 

One night when Fletch was asleep, Col- 
lier came into Tom’s room. He was met as 
if by appointment. “What do you think?” 
Tom inquired as the visitor sat down. 

“Somehow I can’t think. I guess it was a 


Squatter s Son 


133 


genuine robbery. Barton is hard pressed for 
money — sold a piece of land for little more 
than half of its real value, and I think he is 
really grief stricken. What do you think?” 

“I’m like you. Some one has suggested 
that those Slim Prairie boys might have had 
something to do with it.” 

“There isn’t any proof of it.” 

Then came a voice from the bed. “Oh, 
Barton robbed it all right enough.” 

“Here, Fletch, you mustn’t talk that 
way,” said Tom. “If you think so, keep it 
to yourself.” 

“You are wild this time,” Collier re- 
marked to Fletch. “Even a robber may be 
robbed, you know.” 

“Yes,” drawled Fletch, “but he ain’t as 
likely to be as the other feller.” 

“Yes, that’s true enough. But don’t say a 
word.” 

“1 ain’t talkin’,” said Fletch, turning over. 

The next day while Barton was sitting in 
his office, Tom came to the door. The great 
man arose with a sad air and invited him to 
enter. Tom went in, sat down, and for a 
time neither of them spoke a word. Finally 
the major remarked: “Your affairs are 
prospering, I am pleased to observe,” 


T 34 


Tom and the 


“I am doing very well, thank you.” 

“It is pleasant to know that some one is 
doing well. I have been set back I can’t tell 
how many years. It is not only the loss of 
the money but the manner of losing it; it has 
taken the spirit out of me.” 

“But I understand that the people have 
generously come forward and assured the 
stock holders that they will not be compelled 
to make good the loss.” 

“Yes, they have done that, still that does 
not give me back my spirit.” 

“But there is one thing that ought to give 
you nerve — the determination that ultimate- 
ly you will make good the losses.” 

“Young man, you are right. And sir, 
right now you have given me more nerve 
than everybody combined. By the way, who 
is that man Collier?” 

“A representative of a Michigan lumber 
company.” 

“I haven’t heard that he has made any in- 
vestments. Has he?” 

“He has been looking at pine boards but I 
don’t think that anything definite has come 
of it. He appears to be all right.” 

“Yes,” said the major, slowly shaking his 


Squatter's Son 135 

head, “but in this conniving and deceitful 
old world you can never tell.” 

“Wasn’t he one of your depositors?” 

“Deposited a few hundred dollars but 
checked out a few days afterward. Well, I 
suppose,” he added, “that in a new country 
we are always inclined to cast a suspicious 
eye on the newcomer. And although you 
were received kindly when you came, yet in 
spite of your youth, there were people who 
were curious. They wanted to know where 
you were from and all about your business. 
I myself have been a little slow to accept you 
— that is, I didn’t show it, perhaps, but, er — 
well, you understand.” 

“I hope your mind is now thoroughly at 
rest concerning me.” 

“Yes. You have sometimes antagonized 
me, it is true, but that went to prove that you 
weren’t trying to curry favor with me.” 

“I was not blind to the fact that you were 
perhaps the most important man in the com- 
munity, and it may be that on this account I 
was rude, a stranger, moneyless and yet 
proud enough not to be humble.” 

“Very good, I assure you. And I don’t 
see why we should not become more closely 


136 


Tom and the 


related in business. I need your intelligence 
and your quickness.” 

“We may come to some understanding. 
But I called this morning with regard to 
news concerning the rebuilding of the bank. 
Is the work to begin soon?” 

“To-day, and within a short time we will 
resume business. You know the situation 
and may print what you please. But I’d like 
to make one request of you. Don’t associate 
with that fellow Collier. I may be wrong, 
but I believe he will get you into trouble.” 

“All right.” 

When Tom went to the office he sent the 
following note to Collier: “We must keep 
apart. Don’t come to see me even at night. 
When we meet, it must be in the woods, at 
our log where we talked that time — and al- 
ways of a dark night. I will be there to- 
night. It might be well to agree upon some 
signal for an extra session.” 

The new bank building was soon com- 
pleted and again the brass band played in the 
street, but a man and a young fellow who 
since the first opening had come to know 
each other well did not meet by accident at 
the edge of the crowd. Tom there heard the 


Squatter s Son 


137 


speech of the president. Again Wilson set 
off his squibbling fireworks, and again, seek- 
ing Tom he whispered: “I hope that the 
Lord will forgive me for the lies I have told 
this day.” 

When Tom returned to the office he found 
the following note from Collier: “I think 
the scheme you suggested last night is a good 
one. Select the most intelligent woman of 
your acquaintance and pay court to her, but 
never be entrapped into telling her any- 
thing. She will be of use to us.” 

In the town lived a Mrs. Mayhew, a 
widow, young and handsome. She kept 
house for her brother, a sluggish dealer in 
cattle but hospitable and rather fond of en- 
tertaining. In the Gazette appeared a com- 
plimentary write-up of his enterprise and his 
worth to the community, and his house was 
thrown open to the editor. He cared no 
more for paper freshly printed than for 
scraps of paper blown about the street; a 
book was no more to him than a block, but 
flattery stirred his vanity. 

“We must have that young fellow in the 
house after this,” he said. 

“Have him in the house?” his sister quer- 
ied, “What do you mean?” 


Tom and the 


138 

“Let him come here.” 

“Oh, you mean invite him?” 

“Yes. I guess he’s all right.” 

“I thought you didn’t like him.” 

“Didn’t at first but I understand he’s all 
right.” The woman laughed and one even- 
ing not long afterward when Tom sat in her 
parlor, she looked at him and wondered how 
any one could ever have thought that he was 
not all right. 

“Don’t you think Major Barton is a 
charming man?” she asked archly, giving 
him a look that she doubtless knew must be 
fetching. 

“Yes, an honor to any society.” 

“And he is a widower,” she laughed. 

“Which makes him still more wonderful. 
How can he resist?” 

“Oh, you are trying to tease me.” 

“We admire roses, madam, but don’t try 
to tease them.” 

“Very good, but sometimes we pick them 
to pieces.” 

“Not often, unless they have begun to wilt 
and — you haven’t.” 

“Oh, what an engaging boy you are. Why 
aren’t you older?” 



In the town lived a Mrs. Mayhew, a widow, young 
and handsome. 
















































































































































































- 






- 




























- 















































Squatter s Son 141 

“It might in this instance be a misfortune. 
You wouldn’t be so frank with me.” 

“I believe you are older.” 

“Older than what?” 

“Than what you look. But tell me some- 
thing about Major Barton. I am im- 
mensely interested in him.” 

“I can well believe it.” 

“Oh, not in the way you think. But he is 
so deep and I am always charmed with wis- 
dom. Does he read much?” 

“Reads up the records of men who want 
to borrow money, I suppose.” 

“But doesn’t he read poetry? Oh, how I 
dote on poetry. My father was a poet — 
wrote a whole lot of poetry to my mother.” 

“The safest poetry a man could write is to 
his wife, I should think.” 

“Oh, what a tease you are. But won’t you 
find out all you can about the major and tell 
me? And you won’t find it strange if I ask 
you to find out something else, will you?” 

“Certainly not. Any commission from 
you will be perfectly natural.” 

“Well, find out what he — he thinks of 


142 


Tom and the 


“What, must you go now?” she asked as 
he arose. “Well, I am ever so glad that you 
came and I do hope you will come often. 
Good-bye.” 

On a log in the dark sat Collier and Tom. 
“I spoke of selecting an intelligent woman,” 
said Collier, “but I think this one just fool- 
ish enough to serve our purpose. She doesn’t 
care anything for Barton you know; simply 
wants to shine in this crude little social 
world. When are you going to call again?” 

“Before long. And in the mean time I 
must find out something to tell her. Won’t 
do, you know, to thrash over the same old 
straw. We must keep her appetite whetted 
by slight feeding. And when the time 
comes, the coup will take place at her 
house ” 

“That is, if all our work hasn’t been done 
for nothing — if all our surmises have not 
been false. Sometimes I doubt and then 
again I am almost convinced that he is the 
man. And if along with the other we could 
only fasten this bank robbery on him it 
would give this town a delightful shock. I 
believe I told you that our agency has a 
young fellow now acting as cashier of the 


Squatter's Son 


H3 


bank. Well, he is as shrewd as they make 
’em, and will keep his eyes open. I know 
it’s hard to give yourself up to the practice 
of deceit, but if ever a man had cause you 
have. Get as deep into his friendship as you 
can. Explain as little as you can to Fletch 
and let him do some of the cultivating.” 

“I have taken him into complete fellow- 
ship. He knows all about it.” 

“Well, he’s all right. Have him honey 
around the major. Suppose we go.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


The next morning while Fletch was saun- 
tering along the street he halted at the door 
of the major’s office. “Got a right nice 
place in here,” he said. 

The major looked up and grunted some- 
thing. Fletch continued. “I reckon I’ve 
been a little brash with you. Tom told me 
so and I began to think about it last night 
and before I drapped off to sleep I was right 
sorry.” 

“Well, I am glad to hear that, any how. 
You haven’t done yourself any good in in- 
sulting me.” 

“No, suh, that’s a fact. It made me sorry, 
and a feller ain’t done himself good when 
he’s sorry, but when he is sorry it shows that 
he intends to do better.” 

“Very true, young man. Won’t you come 
in?” 

“Don’t mind if I do for a minit or so.” 
He slouched into the room and sat down. 
“Been a thinkin’ a good deal and I don’t 
hold you to blame for dad’s movin’. Nothin’ 
could keep him long in the same place.” 

144 


Squatter s Son 


H5 

“And besides, I paid him for his land,” 
said the major. 

Fletch knew this to be a lie, but he said : 
“All it was wuth, too, I reckon. So, we 
won’t say nothin’ more about it. By the way, 
I guess I’m the best jedge of a woman you 
ever come across.” 

“Yes?” queried the major, smiling at 
him. “What put that into your head?” 

“I reckon it was because jest now I seed a 
hummer. I went into a store and there she 
stood a buyin’ of a blue ribbon because she 
had tuck the premium, I reckon; and I 
whispered to the clerk that I’d like to have 
a knockin’ down to her, an’ he laughed, he 
did, and introduced me; and when she 
turned around and smiled I jest said to a 
feller standing there, I says, ‘Jest hold my 
hat a minit and blamed if I don’t dance a jig 
right here.’ The name of this woman is 
Mrs. Mayhew, and when I drapped into 
talk with her and happened to mention your 
name, her eye shined like a star and I ’lows 
to myself, I does, ‘hanged if the major hain’t 
cotch her.’ That’s what I ’lows.” 

“Ah, go on, you rascal,” said the major 
laughing. “But how did you happen to 
speak of me just at that moment?” 


146 Tom and the 

Wall, I told her that if she belonged to 
me I’d take her up and put her in your bank 
to keep some feller from stealin’ her, and 
she laughed and says, she does, ‘wall, I rec- 
kon if any body wanted me he could blow 
up the bank and take me away,’ and I says, 
‘much obleeged for the information and the 
smile. Good day.’ ” 

“Fletch, you are a genius in your way — 
there’s no getting around that fact.” 

“Wall, I ain’t been right good all my life 
but I didn’t know that I was a genius. But 
give me a chance and I may git over it. Say, 
you ain’t said what you think of that hum- 
mer” 

“Oh, Mrs. Mayhew? Present my com- 
pliments the next time you see her.” 

“All right. And I want to present you 
mine right now for bein’ so friendly with me. 
I may be of some use to you, understand. 
You never kin tell how fur a frog kin jump 
by lookin’ at him. Well, I must drap round 
to work.” 

Fletch came smiling into the printing 
office. “I reckon I’ve got him sorter foul,” 
he said to Tom who sat at his desk. I tell 


Squatter s Son 


H 7 


you, pour sorghum molasses on the top of 
a feller’s head and he sticks out his tongue.” 

“That’s right,” Tom replied. “A man 
who’s weak enough to be dishonest is usually 
weak enough to be vain. I have just heard 
an important piece of news. They say that 
the Slim Prairie boys have become so much 
enraged at the report that they must have 
had something to do with the blowing up of 
the bank that they have invited several of 
their relatives from Missouri and are going 
to make a raid on the town.” 

“Who was a tellin’ you all this?” 

“Jim Turner. He usually finds out every 
thing. He has just come from over there 
and is now going about, urging the citizens 
to arm themselves. There are two guns over 
there in the corner and Wilson has gone out 
after more” 

“Well,” said Fletch, “I have seen a few 
fellers gallop through a place and make 
it look like an old bed quilt.” 

Just then Wilson came in with two Win- 
chesters. “Here we are,” said he, standing 
the guns against the wall. 

“Do you really believe those fellows have 
the nerve to do that?” Tom inquired. 


148 


Tom and the 


“Men who have no sense have nerve 
enough to do anything,” Wilson replied. 
“They’ll take liquor to brace themselves 
against the possibility of all fear and then — ” 
At this moment there arose a wild yell 
and the firing of guns in the street. Men ran 
in every direction and the door of the bank 
was slammed and locked. The court house 
bell was rung furiously. 

Tom quietly closed the door of his office 
and took up a gun. “I don’t want to kill 
any one,” he remarked, “but I don’t want 
to be killed. It may be all a bluff.” 

“Gone too far to be a bluff,” said Fletch, 
peeping through the window. “Listen how 
they are popin’ away. Look, there’s a man 
down in the street. Fellers, we’re going to 
have some fun right here.” 

And now toward the printing office the 
marauders dashed, firing as they came. A 
volley was poured from within and two sad- 
dles were emptied and two horses galloped 
away. This was the first check that the 
scoundrels had met. Across the street a 
window was thrown up, a gun that looked 
like a blunderbuss was thrust through ; there 
came a bellow like a cannon and another 


Squatter's Son 


149 


horse galloped away, riderless. Whisky, not 
apt in calculation, had not counted on such 
resentment, and now began a general flight. 
Out of the town the remnant of the gang 
swept, with guns roaring behind them. And 
after they were gone, it seemed that every 
man who had a gun fired it into the street. 
When at last it was safe to take deliberate 
action, the citizens issued forth and held an 
indignation meeting. A number of cattle- 
men sprang upon their horses and gave pur- 
suit. The dead invaders were given over to 
the village undertaker. They had been kill- 
ed outright. The town marshal came up, 
a candidate for congratulation and praise. 
He affirmed that the work of extermination 
had been done by him. In proof of it he ex- 
hibited a pistol which he termed a swamp 
angel. Boys followed him about the town. 

Just before nightfall one of the cattlemen 
returned with information that the outlaws 
had taken refuge in an old deserted fort 
about ten miles distant. He said that with- 
out cannon it would be impossible to dis- 
lodge them. From a boy he had learned 
the following : The reckless gang had stored 
the place with provisions, as if they had ex- 


i5o 


Tom and the 


pected a seige. The fort was on the hill, 
with but little timber about it, and to take 
it by assault would cost many lives. And to 
starve them out would require many weeks. 

The martial spirit was aroused and before 
morning a company of men had been organ- 
ized. Tom was elected Captain. He knew 
something of the military art, having dis- 
tinguished himself at a competitive drill, 
given at a state fair. Naturally he was 
proud of his new distinction. He did not 
permit his men to go home, but quartered 
them in the court house. By sunrise the 
command was ready to march. 


CHAPTER XV. 


The drums that beat at Louisburg and 
thundered at Quebec did not inspire the 
tread of this little army. There was no fife, 
no music, not even a whistle; but there was 
determination: for the American though 
called a lover of peace, is after all the most 
natural and adaptable soldier in the world. 
He may not know a word of command, but 
the moment he takes up a gun he is a warrior. 

At a safe distance the cattlemen had the 
fort surrounded. Two of their number, 
more adventurous than the rest, had been 
severely wounded. The leader, a . whooping 
cow-boy, had advocated galloping over the 
breast works but was ruled down by num- 
bers and discretion. As Tom’s army ad- 
vanced a volley was fired from the fort, but 
the range was great and no harm was done. 

“It is a piece of good advice,” said Tom. 
“They give us to understand that it won’t be 
well to get up much closer. About all we 
can do is to hold them here until we get a 
piece of artillery from Fort Smith.” 

151 


152 


Tom and the 


“And even then it will take some time,” 
remarked an old soldier. “Those walls are 
about eight feet thick, built of stone with 
earth on the outside. It was constructed in 
the early days and was put there to stay.” 

“I never heard of as foolish a thing,” Wil- 
son declared. “Do those yaps think they 
can stay in that fort and whip the entire 
country?” 

“Men that are foolish enough to fight 
without cause are likely to believe most any- 
thing,” the old soldier replied. 

“Look out, boys,” said Tom. “They are 
using longer range guns. They’ve got a 
Mauser, I believe. Fletch, get behind that 
tree.” 

“But I want to see what’s goin’ on, Cap’n.” 

“But there isn’t anything going on. Hear 
that ping? It’s a Mauser sure enough. 
Wilson, how long will it take to get a cannon 
from Fort Smith?” 

“A week, may be. The roads are not 
good you know.” 

“But this won’t do.” 

“You are commander,” some one spoke 
up. 

“I know. And now lefs see if they’ll 
honor a flag of truce.” 


Squatter s Son 


*53 

Fletch volunteered to carry the flag and in 
the name of the law to demand the surrender 
of the fort, but the moment he started to- 
ward the enemy, with a white handkerchief 
on the end of a stick, he was fired upon, and 
Tom commanded him to return. 

“Them fellers aint got as much politeness 
as a deck hand on a steam boat,” said the 
squatter’s son. 

“They don’t intend to surrender, that’s 
plain enough,” said Wilson. And then, 
looking about he added: “Helloa, here’s the 
town marshal.” 

The marshal whose name was Swinge, 
came up, dodging from one tree to another. 
“Ain’t you got ’em yet?” he inquired. 

“Got ’em all right but they don’t belong to 
us,” Fletch answered. “But maybe you’ve 
got a better claim on ’em than we have. If 
so, help yourself to ’em. We ain’t greedy.” 

“I should think it would be a good idee 
to charge ’em,” said the marshal, speaking 
to Tom. 

“We’ll charge ’em for everything they 
git,” Fletch spoke up. 

“I ain’t a talking’ to you,” Marshal 
Swinge retorted. 


*54 


Tom and the 


“But I’m talking to you. And when you 
feel like chargin’ ’em I reckon the Capt’n 
there will let you. But git out there and 
show yourself and mebby they’ll surrender. 
Don’t see how they kin hold out after they 
find you are here.” 

“Captain,” said the marshal, “I should 
think you’d have better control over your 
men.” 

“Control! Don’t you see how good it is? 
I’m holding them back all right.” 

“Well, now here,” declared the marshal, 
“this ain’t no jokin matter. I look on it as 
serious.” 

“Do you? Glad you are so thoughtful. 
Say, Web,” Tom added, speaking to a red 
haired fellow, “haven’t you been at work 
over on the new railroad?” 

“Yes, worked there till I got all I wanted 
of it.” 

“Haven’t they got some dynamite cart- 
ridges over there — the sort that will explode 
by concussion?” 

“Yes, they’ve got all sorts.” 

“Well, strike out over there as fast as you 
can and bring me three or four.” 

“But how are you goin’ to git ’em into the 
fort?” 


Squatter's Son 


155 


“Never mind, you go and bring them.” 

Wei started off and Tom addressed Jim 
Turner. “Go back to town and bring me 
all the toy balloons the fellow has there on 
the corner.” 

“Hah,” Wilson exclaimed, “I begin to 
perceive the workings of your military 
genius.” 

“And a big ball of twine, Jim,” Tom 
added. 

“I think I can see how this campaign is 
going to end,” said Wilson, drawing his head 
back behind a stump as a Mauser bullet 
tinged past him. “You are going to fly those 
balloons like a kite and drop the dynamite 
over into the fort. But say, why not use a 
kite?” 

“It wouldn’t do.” 

“I don’t see why.” 

“With a kite there would be no way of 
dropping the dynamite.” 

“But how are you going to do it with a 
balloon?” 

Why, when the balloons — it will take 
several of those toy things — are above the 
fort the Slim Prairie boys will shoot at them 
for their own amusement, down will come 


156 


Tom and the 


the cartridge — and an explosion which they 
have caused to come upon themselves.” 

‘Well, sir,” spoke up the town marshal, 
spread out flat behind a tree, “I thought of 
that plan myself. I carried it into execu- 
tion once when I was down on the Mexican 
border with the rangers.” 

‘Til bet you did,” said Fletch, holding 
himself to keep, from laughing. “And say, 
wasn’t you with Sampson when he tied fire- 
brands to the tails of the foxes and burnt up 
the wheat?” 

“You talking to me?” the marshal inquir- 
ed with his mouth pressed down close in the 
short grass, for a bullet had just hummed a 
tune above him. “Talkin’ to me?” 

“Yes, come to think about it I believe I 
am.” 

“Well, you want to be a leetle more care- 
ful. I won’t be made fun of by a yahoo like 
you. Now you fellers may laugh all you 
want to but I don’t see nothin’ funny in it. 
Whenever this scarecrow says anything, par- 
ticularly when it ain’t true, you fellers have 
to laugh. And I want to tell you I won’t 
have it.” 

“I reckon you’ve already got it,” said 
Fletch. 


Squatter’s Son 157 

“Yes, and I’ll have it out with you when 
this thing’s over.” 

“You can have it out now if you say the 
word. Fool with me and I’ll grab you and 
drag you up the hill.” 

“Look out, don’t you put your hands on 
me.” 

“Oh, I’ll do it in a minit,” Fletch declared. 
“You called me a scare-crow. I guess that’s 
right, and you are the first crow I’m goin’ 
to skeer, and if you don’t take back what you 
said I’ll drag you out from behind that tree 
and give that Mauser man a whack at you. 
What do I hear? Do you apologize?” 

“Well, perhaps I oughtn’t to have said it.” 

“Don’t want any perhapses. Take it back.” 

“All right, rather than have trouble I do 
take it back. I don’t want any trouble with 
a boy.” 

“And now I want you to acknowledge 
that you was lyin’ when you said you had 
sent up dynamite in baloons when you was 
with the rangers.” 

The men were laughing. Tom was rolling 
on the ground. All order was forgotten. 
“Say, young fellow,” the marshal protested, 
“you are cornin’ it a little too strong.” 


i 5 8 


T om and the 


“That’s all right, acknowledge it or I’ll 
pull your leg round from behind that tree 
and have it shot off. What do you say?” 

“Well, — say did I tell you about my 
brother Dave? He was a wonder — twin 
brother of mine, and we looked so much 
alike that when one of us done a thing some- 
times we didn’t know which one it was, and 
come to think of it, I believe it was Dave that 
scouted with the rangers. Yes, it was Dave ; 
I am sure of it. Now what are you fellers 
laughin’ at? Can’t twin brothers look like 
each other?” 

“Boys,” said Tom, “don’t forget why we 
are here. Look out! I wonder how much 
more amunition that Mauser man has about 
him. I think they’ve got whiskey as well. 
If they hadn’t they wouldn’t be wasting their 
amunition. Listen, they are singing. We’ll 
put in a bass note after a while.” 

The day wore away and along toward 
night the boy came with the balloons. The 
camp of the railroad builders was further 
away and it was not expected that Web 
would get back before sunrise. Fires could 
not be kindled, for fear of the Mauser. The 
men lay flat on the ground, with their guns 


Squatter s Son 


1 59 


within reach, ready to repel a rush from the 
fort. On the other side were the cattle men, 
with the wings of the two divisions joining. 
The evening was cloudy but the moon came 
out at last, a better protection against attack 
than would have been a hundred more sen- 
tinels. The men took turns about sleeping. 
With humorous arrangement on the part of 
Tom, Fletch and the marshal were to relieve 
each other. 

“You’ll make one of the best watchmen in 
the camp,” said Fletch. 

“I’m glad you are at last beginning to ap- 
preciate my worth,” die marshal replied. 

“That’s all right. You’ll make the best 
watchman because you’re afraid to go to 
sleep.” 

“Now, you be blowed, young feller. I’m 
no more afraid than you are; I’ll give you to 
understand that.” 

“Oh, I understood it before you give it to 
me. How did you happen to get this place 
as marshal?” 

“Major Barton recognized my worth and 
had me appointed.” 

“I reckon you’ve knowed him a good 
while, havn’t you?” 


i6o 


Tom and the 


“Yes, I used to work for him before he 
come here.” 

“Where was it? He lived somewhere in 
Arkansas didn’t he?” 

“Yes, came mighty nigh being governor of 
the state. Could have been if he hadn’t 
been too honest for politics. But you don’t 
like him, do you?” 

“Didn’t at first, but now I swear by him. 
Don’t swear very often as I’ve sorter quit 
cussin’, but when I do swear I swear by him. 
Do you reckon they’ll ever ketch the fellers 
that robbed the bank?” 

“I hope so.” 

“Do you? I mean, so do I. And I reck- 
on them fellers up there in the fort know 
somethin’ about it.” 

“I’ll bet they do, too. That leader is a bad 
man; uster rob trains in Missouri. His 
name is Bud Clive. Come mighty near 
shootin’ him once.” 

“Did you fire back over your shoulder?” 

“Look here — ” 

“So dark it’s no use to look.” 

“That’s all right. What I was goin’ to 
say is this: I never can tell whether you are 
joshin’ me or not. What sort of a fellow are 


Squatter s Son 


161 

you, any way? Don’t you ever get serious? 
One of these days somebody’ll take a fall 
outen you, I’ll tell you that. Everybody ain’t 
as kind hearted as we are and won’t stand as 
much.” 

“That so? Say, do you ricollect ever 
meeting me before I come here?” 

“No, I met you soon enough when you did 
come. Glad I didn’t meet you before.” 

“But you did. Don’t you ricollect over 
at a store on the Arkansas river one day a 
feller come in with a coon skin and a feller 
and a yaller haired chap got smart and got to 
pickin’ on him? Don’t you? And if you’ll 
put your mind down on it you’ll ricollect that 
this feller knocked down the yeller haired 
chap and stuffed his mouth full of coon skin. 
Wall, I was the feller and the yaller hair 
was your brother and he didn’t look like you, 
either. I guess you became twins after that. 
Well, I’m goin’ to sleep now.” 

Fletch dozed off and was dreaming of the 
adventurous past, of his cabin in the big tim- 
ber, of his old coon dog, when the marshal 
shook him. “Say,” said Swinge, “I think I 
see somebody crawling down the hill. Look 
yander.” 


T om and the 


162 

Fletch raised up, rubbing his eyes. “I 
don’t see anything.” 

“Well, I do, as sure as you live, and I 
think we better be gittin’ away from here.” 

“Yes, now I see,” said Fletch. “It’s that 
fellow with the Mauser. It don’t tote a bul- 
let any bigger than a pea, and you are plenty 
big to stand a little thing like that.” 

“Don’t talk that way, I’m not well. I’ve 
had a headache all day. I wonder if the 
captain would care if I sorter crawled off 
there.” 

“We’ll ask him after you have done it,” 
said Fletch. 

“But,” persisted the coward, “I don’t be- 
long to the army any way. I hadn’t thought 
of that.” 

“You may not have belonged to it at first 
but you do now,” said Fletch, “and if you 
crawl away ’t will be my duty to shoot you as 
a deserter.” 

“Would you do such a thing?” 

“I’d have to. If I didn’t they’d have me 
shot.” 

“Oh, that thing out there is only a hog. 
to run away. You bet I’ll stand as long as 


Squatter s Son 163 

Hah, I knew it all the time and wasn’t goin’ 
the next man.” 

“Yes, behind a tree,” said Fletch. 

“Look here, you are tryin’ to hatch out 
trouble. Hush, what was that noise out 
there in the bushes? Don’t you hear it?” 

“Yes, I did. I believe its some feller try- 
in’ to slip round here to stab one of us. 
Thought I saw a knife shine.” 

The marshal’s teeth began to chatter. “If 
you’re cold I’ll lend you my coat,” said the 
squatter’s son. 

“Oh, it’s the cap’n,” the marshal declared 
with a sigh of relief. “How is everything, 
Cap?” 

“All right so far as I know. Is that a fire 
away over yonder or the sun coming up? 
Yes, the sun, for it’s day-light.” And shortly 
afterward, still gazing toward the east, he 
added: “I believe I see Web coming. And 
if it is, boys, something is going to happen.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


Web arrived with two dynamite cart- 
ridges, carrying one in each hand, walking 
slowly and with exceeding care along the 
road. He was greeted with a huzzah, and 
it was answered by a derisive yell from the 
fort. A stiff breeze was blowing, and the 
engineer of the explosive enterprise deemed 
it as most fortunate as the wind would fly his 
cluster of balloons directly over the heads of 
the enemy. It was arranged that in order to 
draw the outlaws’ attention, a detachment 
of the militia should join the cattlemen and 
open fire. Otherwise there arose the ex- 
treme danger of having the balloons prema- 
turely punctured by bullets from the fort 
and thus drop the dynamite down among the 
originators of the plan of attack. Just as the 
men were moving off a buggy came within 
sight, but it soon turned aside as the Mauser 
man brought his long-reaching arm to bear 
upon it. The vehicle tore off into the woods 
and shortly afterward Major Barton made 
his appearance, slowly picking his way from 
one sheltering tree to another. 

164 


Squatter s Son 165 

“Why,” he said to Tom, “I thought you 
boy’s had them all eaten up by this time?” 

“Ah,” Tom replied, “and if you haven’t 
had breakfast we invite you to help your- 
self.” 

“No, thank you, I have eaten. I tell you 
what, they are well provided. Why, you’ll 
have to pound them out with cannon. Hel- 
loa, what have you here?” 

Tom explained, as he stood arranging his 
balloons, and the Major’s eyes opened wide. 
“Well,” said he, “when you get through with 
your military operations you can make fame 
and fortune as an inventor. I never would 
have hit upon such a plan.” 

“Yes,” drawled Fletch, “and if we don’t 
watch out them fellers will shoot out the 
balloons above us and drop the medicine 
where it ain’t wanted.” 

“That’s a fact!” the major exclaimed. 
“And, gentlemen, I wish you good morn- 
ing.” 

He picked his way back to the buggy and 
drove off to town. 

The balloons to which the heavy cartridge 
was attached mounted slowly, just as a fusil- 
ade broke loose on the opposite side of the 


Tom and the 


1 66 

fort. The pretense of a determined attack 
was a complete success. Not a shot was fired 
at the balloons, and at last they hovered 
above the fort. Suddenly it was discovered 
that they were slowly descending. “That 
won’t do,” said Tom. “They’ll break off 
our string, rig up a contrivance of their own 
and send the things back here with a message 
we may not relish. Here, ten of your best 
shots. Ready, aim, fire!” 

The balloons disappeared in mid air — and 
then — then came a terrific explosion. With 
a yell the malitia men rushed up the hill. 
Dirt was still raining and huge stones were 
rolling on the ground. The dynamite had 
struck squarely upon the wall, opposite from 
the side where the outlaws were gathered, 
and thus a bloody slaughter was averted. 
The rascals were now sober, and so fright- 
ened that they made no attempt to defend 
themselves. One of them tore off his shirt 
and waved it as a sign of unconditional sur- 
render. 

“Don’t shoot them,” Tom commanded. 

When the militia entered the breech, it 
was found that not a hand was raised in op- 
position. Some of the poor fools were strug- 



“The drop’s yourn. We give in.” 



Squatter s Son 


169 


gling to free themselves from the earth that 
had been heaped upon them. The leader 
came forward, both hands up, and said: 

“The drop’s yourn. We give in.” 

A number of them had been bruised but 
none killed. Their hands were tied behind 
them and triumphantly they were marched 
to town. The brass band met the returning 
“army,” and snorted the break-downs and 
rag-time tunes of victory. The prisoners, 
eighteen in number, were lodged in the 
county jail. The grand jury assembled, in- 
dictments were returned, and before the day 
was done the Slim Prairie boys and their 
friends from Missouri were on their way to 
the penitentiary. 

That night a man stood on a pile of bricks 
making a speech, “I am one of the few who 
have saved this community,” he said. The 
orator was the town marshall. “And what 
do I ask in return? Nothing except the 
good will of all. And I hope that you will 
not believe those who are jealous of me and 
who may speak evil of my name. And in 
the meantime, fellow citizens, if you elect 
me to a higher office, I promise to serve you 
without fear.” 


170 


Tom and the 


“I’ll pull the coward down,” said Fletch 
but Tom took hold of his arm. 

“No,” he whispered. “Remember that it 
is our present policy to cultivate the good 
will of rascals. But our time is coming.” 

The hour was late and Tom sat alone, on a 
log in the woods. He held up his watch to 
catch the light of the moon. “I wonder 
what is keeping him,” he mused. A long 
time passed and he arose to walk about for 
exercise. Suddenly he halted and listened. 
He fancied that he heard a moan. Or was it 
mere fancy. No, it was not fancy. Dis- 
tinctly he heard moaning and it seemed to 
come from the ground, beneath his feet. The 
woods were dark, in places the ground was 
rough and he must needs move about cau- 
tiously. Listening, standing almost breath- 
less, he heard the moan again, and it seemed 
to be further off. He cried out, “Who’s 
there!” But there came no answer. Surely 
it could not be long until day. The dark 
flush of dawn already lay in the east. Again 
came the moan, from the left, and in that 
direction slowly he moved. Again it came, 
and slightly he changed his course, and now 
he stood at the brink of a pit, peering down 


Squatter's Son 


171 

into its black depths. Then came the moan, 
stronger. Some one was in the black hole. 
He took out his handkerchief, set it afire with 
a match, dropped it over the brink; and by 
the brief light he saw the body of a man lying 
upon the stones at the bottom of the pit. “I 
will be down as soon as I can get there,” he 
cried and no answer came back. The morn- 
ing was cloudless and from the east the light 
svyept fast. Soon he could see his way clear 
toward getting down into the place, stepping 
from rock to rock, and in the bottom of the 
pit it was still dark when he knelt there over 
the body of a man. Striking a match he 
gazed, and dropped the light. It was the 
body of Collier. Scrambling out he brought 
water in his hat and bathed the face of his 
insensible friend. He heard a wagon and 
hastened to the road. 

“Here,” he called to the driver, “a friend 
of mine has fallen into a pit and hurt him- 
self. Come and help me get him out.” 

Collier was taken from the pit, put into 
the wagon and conveyed to a cabin some 
distance away; “What is his name?” the 
driver asked. 

“Jones,” Tom answered. “And by the 


Tom and the 


172 

way, don’t say anything about the accident. 
I don’t want his friends to know it.” 

In the cabin lived an old man, alone, a 
sort of hermit. “His friends won’t know it 
as long as he’s here,” said the recluse. “No 
one stops here. The average man goes hot 
foot past places that look so poor.” 

A negro boy was sent after Dr. Plum. And 
when he came Tom said to him. “I suppose 
you recollect my friend Collier, but I don’t 
want you to mention the fact that he is hurt. 
Trust me, in this matter, please, and ask no 
questions. It will all be made clear to you 
before long.” 

“All right, my boy, but it’s rather mysteri- 
ous.” 

“Let me hold the mystery a while and the 
light will break.” 

“All right. Ah, he’s coming all right. 
But he had a pretty bad fall. Say, but he 
has been struck with something on the head.” 

“The fall — ” Tom began, but a look from 
the Doctor silenced him. 

“It was done with some blunt instrument. 
But you needn’t explain. I’ll wait.” 

The Doctor left to visit another patient 
and Tom sat by the bedside of his friend. 


Squatter s Son 


173 


Along toward noon he revived sufficiently to 
talk. He said that he had gone to the meet- 
ing place and was about to sit down on the 
log when he was struck with something. But 
he did not at that time lose consciousness, 
though he fell to the ground. “I’ll stab 
him,” said some one. “No,” some one else 
replied. “Don’t do that. We’ll throw him 
over into the hole and they’ll think he fell 
and killed himself.” 

“Don’t talk,” said Tom. “You have told 
me enough. They tried to murder you and 
we must let them believe that they succeeded. 
I’ll go to town and give it out that you are 
away on a visit. Every night I’ll come to 
see you. The old man won’t say a word. I 
have paid him in advance for his hospitality 
and he is grateful.” 

“I recognized one of the voices,” said the 
wounded man. 

“Yes,” said Tom. “It was the voice of 
that coward — the town marshal.” 

“Yes. He was the one who wanted to stab 
me.” 

“And the other — did you recognize — ” 

“I am almost sure,” Collier broke in. 
“Yes, it was our friend — Barton.” J 


174 


Tom and the 


Two days later the Gazette contained the 
following announcement : “Mr. J. M. Col- 
lier we understand, has returned to the east. 
We had hoped that he might settle in the 
midst of us, but he ought to know his own 
business. He had made many friends here 
but did not even tell them good-by.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


Not long after the paper came out Tom 
strolled round to Barton’s office. “I see,” 
said the major “that your man Collier ha9 
gone away.” 

“Yes, and he left rather suddenly.” 

“Oh, well, such adventurers come and go 
and it is impossible to keep track of them.” 

“I suppose he was an adventurer,” Tom 
replied, looking at the major with an ex- 
pression as innocent as the query of a child. 

“Thoroughly so, my boy. Now, I know 
the world, and I can tell a bad man the mo- 
ment I clap my eye on him. And the more 
you associate with me the more you’ll be com- 
pelled to respect my — well, I’ll call it ex- 
perience.” 

“There is no knowledge like experience,” 
said Tom. “Compared with experience, all 
other information is mere heresay. By the 
way, I saw Mrs. Mayhew last night and — ” 

“Ah,” the major broke in. 

“Yes, and she has commissioned me to in- 
vite you to be the guest of honor at an enter- 
175 


176 


Tom and the 


tainment which she is going to give next 
Thursday night, just a week from now.” 

“Why, I shall be delighted,” said the 
major. “She is a very fine lady, I have dis- 
covered that.” 

“And I understand,” Tom remarked, 
closely watching the major, “that she is 
about to fall heir to quite a large fortune.” 

“You don’t tell me.” 

“Yes, I do tell you but I don’t want you to 
tell any one. It came to me in a very direct 
way, but it is still a secret.” 

“Ah, yes. And have you any idea as to 
the amount?” 

“Fifty thousand dollars, I understand.” 

“Well, she is to be congratulated.” 

“Yes, but please don’t. She would think 
that we were paying her attention merely 
because — ” 

“Quite right. I understand. Yes you are 
right.” 

“But in the mean time, Major, we can 
humor all her little whims.” 

“Shrewd young duck — ah, you are 
shrewd. But I haven’t heard that she has 
any whims.” 

“Neither have I, but the inheritance of a 


Squatter s Son 


1 77 

fortune is likely to develop them, you under- 
stand.” 

“Ah, you are a wise boy,” said the banker 
reaching over and patting Tom on the arm. 
“And by the way,” he added, smiling win- 
somely, “when you grow tired of the news- 
paper office you may come over to the bank. 
The more I study you the more am I con- 
vinced that a career is waiting for you. By 
the way, have you seen Wilson lately.” 

“Not very lately. Isn’t he still working 
for you?” 

“Well, no. The fact is that Wilson is 
rather shiftless. Won’t you sit longer?” 

“No, I thank you. And,” Tom continued, 
halting at the door and turning about, “don’t 
forget next Thursday evening.” 

“I won’t.” 

Wilson was at the office when Tom went 
in to take up his work for the day. “I had 
to lie to him,” said the editor. 

“I don’t know that you can call it lying,” 
Wilson replied. “It is necessary business — 
what statesmen would call diplomacy, and 
we must engage in it for a time longer.” 

“Yes, until next Thursday night,” said 
Tom. 


i 7 8 


Tom and the 


“Do you think Collier will be ready by 
then — well enough?” 

“Oh, yes, he’s improving very fast. And 
won’t we give the town a sensation.” 

“Yes, and I was thinking that we might 
do it all in a quieter way.” 

“I don’t want it done in a quieter way. Out 
of it we must have our little drama, and the 
drama is not only interesting but ought to be 
instructive, you know. Come in, Doctor.” 

Dr. Plum entered. “Tom,” said he, “I’d 
like to see you a moment — in the other 
room.” 

Tom went with him into the back room, 
and turning to the Doctor, said: “Nothing 
serious I hope.” 

“Well, I don’t know. What does Barton 
know of Collier’s accident?” 

“What does he know? Has he said any- 
thing?” 

“Well, he hasn’t come out and said so, but 
he seems to be feeling about — asks me all 
sorts of questions about him, whether he is 
really gone and if I think it likely that he 
stole anything before leaving. What does 
it all mean?” 

“It means a good deal, Doctor, and if you 


Squatter s Son 


179 


will say nothing and agree to wait until next 
Thursday night you shall know all about it. 
But in the mean time you must say nothing.” 

“Why, that’s a week from now. That’s a 
good long while for a doctor to wait.” 

“I know it is more in order for a patient 
than for a doctor to wait, but you must do as 
I request you. I’m the doctor now.” 

“All right, my son.” 

“And by the way, I am commissioned to 
invite you to be present next Thursday night 
at an entertainment presided over by Mrs. 
Mayhew — at her house.” 

“Ah, light begins to break. Sly old rascal 
is Barton. He’s going to marry her then — 
now; and he wants Collier to be present — is 
afraid he has gone. Oh, you rascals.” 

“But don’t say a word about it, Doctor.” 

“No. But I’m a little sharper than you 
thought. Just give me credit for that as you 
go along, will you?” 

“All right. And don’t forget to come, 
dressed in your best.” 

“I’ll be there, looking like a morning glory 
vine.” When they had returned to the other 
room the Doctor inquired of Wilson as to 
what he was doing. 


Tom and the 


180 

“Nothing at present. But I’m going into 
business for myself before long. I’m not 
with the major any more.” 

“That so? I should have thought that you 
would have remained with him — first rate 
man to be with, none better.” 

“That may be true enough, but by the 
time a man reaches my age it’s almost neces- 
sary that he should branch out for himself.” 

“Wise, sir ; wise. And whenever you need 
my help, call on me.” 

“Good man and sometimes he’s as blind as 
a bat,” said Wilson when the Doctor had 
gone out. “Barton is cheating him in some 
manner every day and he can’t see it.” 

“But he will before long.” 

Fletch came in, nodded to Wilson, sat 
down, took out his notebook and began to 
write up the local news of the day. “Any 
thing important enough for an editorial?” 
Tom inquired. 

“Yes. The town marshal is out as a candi- 
date for sheriff sure enough and the fools 
around town are goin’ to support him.” 

“They will until the proper time comes,” 
said Tom. “In the mean time say nothing.” 

“All right. I’m as dumb as a ’possum.” 


Squatter s Son 


181 

That evening Tom sat in Mrs. Mayhew’s 
parlor. She smiled upon him for he was not 
only a military hero, enough to win the smile 
of almost any woman, but was regarded as 
an important factor in the development of 
the coming city of Blue Jay. “I am always 
so glad to see you,” she said. 

“Ah, a reflection from the pleasure you 
give me.” 

“What a flatterer you have become. But 
you are almost a man now, and all men flat- 
ter. Don’t they, or do they?” 

“Many times they tell truth that sounds 
like flattery.” 

“Do they? I am so pleased to hear that.” 

“I suppose we shall have dancing,” said 
Tom. 

“Oh, yes, and for those who don’t dance 
there must be games.” 

And then he told her of a game that she 
must enact, and she listened, astonished; but 
she promised that she would. It could not 
help but prove a good joke. 

And late in the night as Tom sat beside 
Collier, the injured man, now rapidly re- 
covering, asked if all had been made ready. 

“Yes, we are waiting now for you and 
Thursday night.” 


182 


Tom and the 


“All right, we’ll both be there. I think I 
could walk now.” 

“But you musn’t try. Gather your strength 
as fast as you can.” 

“Have you arranged for the carriage?” 

“Everything is ready.” 

“The young woman will never forgive 
us.” 

“Yes she will. She will feel a pride in 
having taken so prominent a part in so in- 
teresting a play. He is a fire-works man. 
We’ll give him a few rockets.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Mrs. Mayhew smiled upon her guests. It 
was not only the most fashionable event “of 
the season,” but the most fashionable known 
to the social history of Blue Jay. Grand- 
mother’s silk, long hoarded in the family 
chest and in wagons hauled out from older 
civilization, shimmered in the lamplight, 
and here and there a grandfather’s watch, 
with gold key dangling from black braid, 
gleamed with the respectability of the slow 
and stately past. The band, discarding brass 
and turning to more tuneful strings, played 
impulse into lightly moving feet, and amid 
the perfume of roses the dance went on. 

Tom had danced with Mrs. Mayhew and 
now they stood in a corner, looking over the 
guests, commenting upon the “soft eyes that 
looked love to those that spake again.” 

Handing her something done up in a silk 
handkerchief the young man said: “Before 
they call the next dance, introduce your new 
game. It will afford a pleasant change.” 

Stepping to the middle of the room she 
183 


184 


Tom and the 


called for attention. The buzzing ceased. 
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “I am 
about to introduce the game which is now so 
popular in Eastern society. It is called 
hand-cuffs. I will show you by example. I 
am to be blindfolded and then with these 
hand-cuffs I am to fetter any man whom I 
can catch, and before I agree to unlock the 
steel bands he must answer all questions ad- 
dressed to him. Now you will blindfold 
me?” 

“I will,” said Tom, stepping forward. He 
took the handkerchief from about the hand- 
cuffs, returned the steel bands to her and 
proceeded to blindfold her. 

“Fix her so she can’t see,” said Major Bar- 
ton. 

“She will be as blind as justice when I am 
done with her,” Tom replied, and indeed 
she was as blind as some forms of so called 
justice, but she could see. And now the 
game began. Here and there she made skill- 
ful pretense of striving to catch some one, 
but when finally she seized Major Barton 
she held to him until he stood with hands 
out ready for the wrist bands. She slipped 
them on and Tom’s eye glinted when he 


Squatter's Son 


185 


heard die springs snap. Then Mrs. May- 
hew removed the bandage and smiled upon 
the Major. “Oh,” she said, as if she had not 
known. “I have trapped noble game. And 
now, sir, before you’re restored to liberty, 
you must answer every question I ask you. 
How old are you? Honor bright.” 

“Forty-nine.” 

“How many times have you been in love?” 

The guests laughed and the major pre- 
tended to be embarrassed. 

“Well, let me see. Twice, any way, once 
very deeply, the last time.” 

“Very good. But when was the last time?” 

“Well, I know when it began but I cannot 
see the end of it.” 

“In love with his jailor,” said a wag. It 
was her time to be embarrassed. Just then 
there went round the room a titter of merri- 
ment. Fletch, wearing trousers at least four 
inches too short, took his comical place 
among the guests. And at the door there 
was seen another face. Collier was standing 
just outside. 

“And now fair one,” said the major, “I 
must beg my release. I should like to see 
some one else a prisoner.” 


Tom and the 


“But I haven’t the key,” she replied. “Oh, 
our editor friend has it.” 

Tom stepped forward. “Take these things 
off,” said the major. 

“When you have answered all the ques- 
tions that may be asked of you. Major did 
you ever know a man named William 
Hackett?” 

The major started. “Young man, take 
these things off, I tell you.” 

’ “Yes, I know what you tell me. This Wil- 
liam Hackett lived in Kentucky. He was 
the superintendent of an express company. 
With him was a young man, named Ander- 
son. A large amount of money was suddenly 
missing. The young man was arrested and 
taken to jail, at the bidding of Hackett, and 
while an investigation was pending, Hackett 
disappeared. The young man was released, 
but the disgrace affected his health and he 
died shortly afterward. He was my brother, 
Major, you are Hackett.” 

“It is an infamous lie!” the major 
thundered, shaking his hand-cuffs. “It is an 
outrage, and I call upon my friends here to 
release me from this situation. Mrs. May- 
hew— ” 



)> 


“He was my brother, Major, — you are Hackett. 









♦ 







V 




4 . 





















Squatter’s Son 


189 


The woman shrieked. Several ladies ran 
to her. “What does it all mean!” she cried. 
“Mr. Tom, what does it mean?” 

“Let everybody keep quiet,” said Tom. 
“Ladies and gentlemen, it was at a ball in 
Louisville when this man bade them put 
hand-cuffs on my brother. There he stood, 
crushed with shame, but innocent. Here this 
man stands, brazen and guilty. I made it 
the object of my life to hunt him down. For 
more than a year I have pondered over him, 
wondering if he were the man, not daring to 
strike lest I might make a mistake. Not long 
ago a detective whom you know as Collier 
came out here for the Express Company. 
We compared notes and at last found that 
there could be no mistake. About this time 
something else happened. This Hackett, 
whom you know as Barton, took all the 
money out of his bank, set a time fuse and 
while he was away, the place was blown up.” 

“It’s a lie,” shouted Barton. “Here, take 
these things off or I’ll have your life’s blood. 
Ladies and gentlemen, this fellow is a vil- 
lain and a coward. He wanted to borrow 
money of me. I wouldn’t lend it and he 
takes this method of showing his resentment. 
The town marshal — ” 


T om and the 


190 

“Is now under arrest and the coward con- 
fessed,” said Tom. “He not only was a tool 
of robbery but of a darker crime. A few 
nights ago, in company with Barton, his 
master, he attempted to murder Collier. 
They knocked him down and threw him into 
a pit and believed that he was dead. Oh, 
this way, Mr. Collier.” 

Collier stepped into the room. “Ladies 
and gentlemen,” said he, “our young friend 
Anderson tells the simple truth.” 

“As far as he knows it,” Wilson spoke up. 
“And now I desire to say a few words. Shut 
up,” he demanded of Barton who was about 
to speak. “You thought you had me in your 
perpetual clutches with a piece of paper. 
Ladies and gentlemen, this man is no better 
than a cutthroat. And if you knew how 
mean and cruel he is, you would want to hang 
him to a tree.” 

“Why would you want to put such a dis- 
grace on a harmless tree?” Fletch drawled. 

“This has gone far enough,” said the 
major, endeavoring to be calm. “Release 
me or every house in this place will be 
burned to the ground.” Mrs. Mayhew came 
forward, gazing into the eye of the man 


Squatter s Son 191 

whom innocently she had entrapped. “Ma- 
dam,” he said, “I am in your house.” 

“Yes,” she answered, “and it is the last 
time you are to enter it. I believe all that 
they have said. Now that the glitter has 
fallen from you I can see that you are a 
scoundrel, and I am glad that I have been 
instrumental in bringing you to justice. 
Don’t speak to me. You villain.” 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Collier, 
“We have papers that authorize us to take 
this man back to Kentucky. And when the 
law there is done with him, then he will be 
brought back and compelled to answer to 
you for his other crimes. Come, Major Bar- 
ton, your carriage is waiting.” 

“Have I no friends here?” the wretch' 
moaned, looking about. He caught the eye 
of Dr. Plum who had stood silent. The doc- 
tor turned his face away. The entire com- 
pany turned from the banker, the promoter, 
the builder of cities — the would-be-mur- 
derer. 

“You haven’t much time to spare,” said 
Tom. “I would accompany you back to 
your old home, but I don’t care to gloat over 
your downfall. But not in the least am I 


192 


Tom and the 


sorry for you. My poor brother standing 
there in the ball room — but I will not re- 
produce the picture. Mr. Hackett, the man 
whom you threw into the pit is waiting.” 

Slowly Hackett walked forth and stepped 
into the carriage. Dr. Plum came out to 
take a last look at him. “Fellow,” said the 
doctor, “you ought to be hanged.” The 
carriage rolled away. Fletch put his hand 
on Tom’s arm and said: “I never did ride 
in one of them things. I reckon they were 
made mostly for rich folks. Well, this here 
show is broke up. Suppose we go home.” 

“All right — to the office. Tomorrow you 
go in as a partner. No, don’t thank me now.” 

Blue Jay is now a town of nearly ten thou- 
sand inhabitants. One of its principle in- 
dustries is a large steam printing plant, and 
from it is daily issued the Gazette, a news- 
paper sparkling with life. One morning it 
contained a piece of news interesting to every 
one of its older readers. “William Hackett, 
alias Major Barton, while attempting to es- 
cape from the Kentucky penitentiary was 
shot by a guard and killed.” 

The old squatter has given up his ferry and 
in Blue Jay keeps a mink, otter, ’coon and 


Squatter s Son 193 

bear skin house. Speaking of his son not 
long ago he said : “I reckon he’s among the 
smartest fellers in the country. Why, he kin 
read all the things they paint on the fences — 
read ’em right off jest the same as ef they was 
put thar fur him, and when he comes round 
and reads to me the things what he has writ, 
I jest put aside the business of the day and 
titter fitten to kill myself. I tell you that 
fellow Tom is a man. And that lodge he 
started here has lifted up mighty nigh every 
boy in the whole community. He’s been a 
school to my boy, and thar’s only one thing I 
ask him to do for me — and that is to give me 
a chance to fight for him. But he don’t need 
nobody to fight fur him. The folks know 
him.” 


( The End.) 


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LAIRD & LEE’S 

Modern Penmanship 


AND ITS PRACTICAL APPLICATION 


A New and Complete Work by 
C. L. RICKETTS, Scribe. 


47 Full-page Plates 

The Origin of Writing — Penmanship 
How to Learn; How to Teach — 
Materials ; Position ; Movement ; 
Exercises ; the Parts of a Letter ; 
Ornamental Card Writing. 

ALPHABETS— VARIOUS STYLES 

For Writing, Engrossing or General Lettering 

Engrossing Script, Round Hand, Modified Round Hand, 
German Text, Old English, Modified Old English, Compact 
Old English, Modified and Open Old English, Old English 
and Script combined for resolutions, etc., Italics, Marking 
Alphabet, Roman Capitals, Mediaeval caps, small letters 
and numerals, Fancy capitals and small letters, Vertical 
and Slant, with body writing, Business Hand, etc. 

Bound in board covers, cloth back, - - - 60c 
Full cloth, gold and ink stamped, - - - $1.00 

For sale on all Trains, at all Bookstores, or sent direct to any address ii 
the world, postpaid, on receipt of price, by 

LAIRD & LEE, Publishers, wab»»h 2 Ave. CHICAGO 




THE NEW STANDARD 

BUSINESS AND SOCIAL 
LETTER =WRITER 



The Recognized .Authority 


100,000 NOW IN USE 


n HE most complete practical com- 
pendium of correspondence and 
business forms ever published. 
Gives full instructions for writing, 
and specimees of business letters, legal 
forms, leases, deeds, wills, contracts. 


Teaches How to Write Correctly 


MODELS FOR 


REFINED LOVE LETTERS 88 

Social Forms : Invitations, Acceptances, Regrets, Condolences 
Family Letters for Parents, Guardians and Children 
How tr tddress the President and Cabinet Officials. Leading Synonyms 


“Ought to have a prominent place in every school and seminary.” 
—Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

•‘The cover is a real work of art and worthy of the unusually 
Carefully prepared letterpress.” — St. Paul Globe. 

“It so fully covers the ground that whoever possesses and con- 
sults it when in doubt will be sure to have his letters in correct 
form on every occasion ."—Pittsburgh Times. 


Illustrated— Cloth, ^ v e e c r ia J esig „, 75c. Boards, K, 50c. 

For sale everywhere, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by 

LAIRD 4 LEE, Publishers, 263-265 Wabash Ave., CHICAGO 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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